Games of the Heart
by hermymad
Summary: This is my AU take on the Hunger Games. Katniss' father survived the mine blast five years earlier, how would this change her personality and the relationships she has with those around her? If you want to know more, read the story.
1. Little Ducks and Mockingjays

A/N: Ok, this is my first Hunger Games fic, but it was bubbling around in my brain so I thought I'd write it down and see where it goes. The basic premise is that Katniss' father didn't die in the mines and I wanted to play around with how this would change her personality and the rest of THG. So, anyway, here goes…

Oh, and please review!

Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, if I was this would be published in a shiny, pretty book cover, have fewer mistakes in it and my bank balance would be nicer to look at.

xxx

Little Ducks and Mockingjays

Birdsong. It was the one thing I remembered clearly, later, when I thought about that day. The soaring, joyous chatter of birds; the noise of creatures whose greatest care was where their next meal would come from and what the weather would be like tomorrow.

As I scuff my feet through the dense carpet of leaves and pine needles crunching beneath my feet I have bigger problems.

The Reaping.

I don't know why I'm wasting the last of this beautiful day worrying about something I can't change. I can rage and despair as much as I like, there certainly won't be anyone to hear me out here, but none of it will alter whose name they choose from the Reaping Bowl. And I know it will be mine. Call me a pessimist, but I have a horrible feeling about today, not that Reaping Day is ever a happy one, but I just know. I know that when they call out the name of District 12's tribute this year they will say mine. _Katniss Everdeen_.

My father tells me that I need to have a little faith. I just can't understand how he can say such things, but then my father has always been a marvel to me. Missing an arm and most of a leg he is virtually house bound and he can't walk across a room without his lungs almost collapsing, wracked by fits of coughing after a mine explosion five years ago. Despite all that he can still find cause to be cheerful, to sing and cling to what little hope is to be found in the Seam. Every day I try to be more like him.

The sun is high in the sky now and I know that I should head back to the fence, cross that border from the freedom and solitude offered by the forest into the grey world of District 12. Everything is grey there: the buildings, coated in a thick layer of coal dust, the clothes worn and faded with age and the faces of the people, impoverished and downtrodden.

Slowly my feet begin to lead me home, I slip under a hole in the fence and wind my way through the quiet streets. Almost everyone is inside preparing for the Reaping. I catch sight of a familiar face in a window. Gale Hawthorne, my best friend. His family weren't as lucky as mine. The blast that crippled my father killed his leaving Gale to care for his family. He sees me, smiles encouragingly and waves. I can't help but return the gesture. In this whole world there are three people guaranteed to make me smile. Gale, my father and my little sister, Prim.

She is sitting on my bed when I reach the house, swamped inside an old dress that used to be mine. Her tiny frame is lost inside shoulders that are too wide and the hem drops further below her knees than fashion would ever dictate. Not that either of us know a thing about fashion; that is a luxury reserved for the Capitol, or the daughters of the merchants who live in town.

"Mother wants you to put this on." She gestures to the swathe of blue cloth lying beside her. "She says you should hurry up and get ready."

"Does she indeed?" Obediently I begin to strip out of the clothes I had been wearing and pull the blue dress over my head. "You know, you're incredibly bossy for someone so small."

A small, radiant smile lights up her face. "Father says someone needs to keep you all in check."

I laugh and smile too, pretending that today doesn't matter, that it is just like any other. Except it isn't. On no other day would I allow my mother to come in and sit patiently whilst she braids my hair, it's not that the two of us don't get along, it's just that I'm far too restless normally to ever sit still for long enough. Afterwards I go and speak to my father.

His face has more lines on it than it should, the grey in his hair isn't just from the coal dust and when he speaks his voice cracks and whispers. His eyes however are still alive with the same dancing light that they always have been. He takes one look at my stony-faced expression and breaks into a wide smile, so like Prim's.

"Cheer up, Catnip." He heard Gale call me the same stupid nickname once and has used it with irritating regularity ever since.

I try to plaster a smile across my face, but it doesn't stick, and he knows me well enough not to try and force me to. Instead he reaches out his good arm and smoothes some imagined wrinkle in my collar. I know there isn't one there, the amount of time my mother spent fussing over the dress I'm surprised there is any collar left at all.

"Your mother wore that dress when we first met."

I glance down at it. "It's beautiful."

"She was." His voice sounds as though it comes from whatever distant place his grey eyes have gone to. Suddenly they snap back to reality. "And so are you."

I do more than smile, this time I laugh. "If you say so."

He rolls his eyes at my response and pulls me into a one-armed embrace. "I do." There is a pause, during which we both grow serious.

His voice is rough and scratchy in my ear. "You know I am proud of you Katniss, don't you?"

Now I am the one to repeat his words. "I do." I struggle to keep the slight catch from my voice.

"The way you've looked after all of us these last few years, especially Prim. Well…" He pulls back and I feel a gentle kiss against my forehead. "I love you."

My father is not usually this sentimental, even on Reaping Day. "I love you too." I probably don't tell him that often enough.

Our moment is interrupted as mother and Prim come into the room, bustling around and preparing a little meal for us all. The best of the food is being kept for our celebration meal tonight. If we have anything to celebrate.

I pull my mind away from such morose thoughts. I can't let myself think like that; still, my uneasy feeling refuses to budge.

The end of our short time together comes too soon and before I know what is happening we are all making our way towards the square where the selection of District 12's tributes will take place. We move more slowly than other families, on account of Father's crutches, but it is still not slowly enough. I hug them all one last time, sign my name in the book after Prim and then shuffle towards the roped off section. Everything seems to be happening around me as though in a haze. I'm not fully aware of the crowd getting larger, of the silence that slowly begins to descend the closer it gets to two o'clock. A few people whisper words of greeting, Madge Undersee the mayor's daughter catches my eye and nods; I do respond, but barely. All of my attention is focused on the glass ball up on the stage. The glass ball that contains twenty slips of paper with my name on it. What are the odds of my being chosen? A hundred to one? Two hundred? They're not in my favour anyway.

Something is happening now; people are sitting down on the stage and the mayor is speaking, saying the same thing he does every year. Then Effie Trinket, that brilliantly blithering, overly powdered woman from the Capitol takes to the microphone. I don't really pay attention to what she is saying, it's all nonsense anyway. Instead my eyes seek out Gale; he's already looking in my direction and gives me another encouraging wink.

"Now," all eyes suddenly snap back to Effie Trinket as she reaches into one of the Reaping Bowls. "Ladies first I think." There is a breathless silence as she rummages around with her emerald green talons. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest as I know what she is about to say. I can feel the words forming on her lips. _Katniss Everdeen._ Effie takes a breath during which I swear I can sense the world stop entirely just for a moment.

"Primrose Everdeen."

I think my stomach may have been vaporised, certainly it doesn't seem to be where it should anymore. My fingers clutch at my skirt, I'm not sure if I want to tear at it or hold myself steady. I try to focus on something. Breathing would be a good start. In out, slow, steady.

How can it be Prim? My mind is in freefall. She had one slip, of all the thousands that are in the bowl. How can Prim be the chosen tribute? As my swirling, clouded brain starts to catch up with everything I see the tiny, terrified form of my sister approaching the stage. The tiny duck tail formed by her shirt.

I'm not sure when I decide to move my feet, but they are. I'm pushing past the other kids, even though they're already moving to make room for me. "Prim!" My voice cracks over her name and I can hear someone else shouting. My father? "Prim!" I've reached the stage now, she is approaching the steps. "No!" I'm not sure what I'm saying anymore, what I'm doing. My arm reaches out and sweeps her behind me before she even has a chance to turn.

"I volunteer." It is a breathless whisper so I repeat. Louder this time; there is less of a tremor in my voice. "I volunteer as tribute."

There is confusion. People are shouting and whispering. Prim is clinging to me before being dragged away by Gale who looks angrier than I've ever seen him. I'm up on the stage with Effie Trinket hastily trying to salvage the situation, babbling away, before I know where I am. I think she asks my name and I mumble a response. She indicates that the crowd should applaud, but none do, a fact which afterwards I am profoundly grateful for, instead they all begin to raise their hands in the three fingered salute of our District. It is something I will need to process later though. Right now my eyes are too busy sweeping the sea of people, trying to find my father's face.

There he is, up at the back. My mother is sobbing uncontrollably and clinging to his arm, but he is gazing straight at me. His grave grey eyes and my wide, panicked ones. They seem to speak to each other and I can hear his words from earlier. "I am proud of you Katniss." I straighten my back slightly and school my expression to blankness. I will not show weakness in front of the crowd, in front of the whole of Panem who are undoubtedly watching. I will not be afraid. I force myself to listen to the rest of the ceremony. Haymitch Abernathy, the only victor District 12 has to offer is being carted away on a stretcher. I blink; what happened there?

"What an exciting day!" Effie is screeching as she nervously pats her insane pink hair, which now that I am closer I can see is almost definitely a wig. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" Clearly hoping to rectify the rapidly unravelling Reaping she plunges her hand into the bowl and with barely any searching draws forth a slip. From where I stand I can see the name before she even reads it out.

My stomach, which seems to have returned, performs backflips until it is knotted so tightly that I doubt it will ever unravel.

"Peeta Mellark!"

As though drawn by a magnet my eyes hone in on him making his way through the crowd. He is blonde and stocky, a little taller than myself. He has serious blue eyes that right now look as terrified as I feel, or would if I allowed myself. He moves with careful, deliberate steps that are carrying him towards the stage. He once saved my life with a loaf of bread.

Why did it have to be him?

Until he reaches the steps his eyes remain downcast, but when he begins to climb they flit upwards to my face as they do so often in the hallways at school or across the counter when I barter with his father in the bakery. I pull my gaze away, trying to break the sense of connection I feel to Peeta Mellark. We're entering the Hunger Games; I can't afford a connection to anything anymore.

Effie makes us shake hands and I notice despite myself that for all he seems afraid there is no tremble in his, not even a sweaty palm. She then sweeps us from the stage before the last strains of the national anthem have even finished and before I know it I am alone in a small, but luxurious room of the Justice Building.

All of the furnishings seem to be made of the richest velvet. I know this because my mother has a dress which she wears on special occasions and the collar is made of the stuff. It is my father's favourite and I'm not sure if that is why, but the feel of the material is comforting as I sit there anxiously.

I am not alone for long.

Prim comes first, flying into the room and clambering onto my lap as she did when she was small, or smaller. My mother and father sit on either side of us and for a long moment no one says anything. Then, slowly, we begin to speak. It is difficult though. What can you say? I try though. I tell them about my pact with Gale to help provide for them. Father's lips purse up at this, he found it difficult enough when I became the one to feed the family, but he doesn't make comment for which I am grateful. I tell them I love them and that I will try to do my best, that they can always rely on Prim's goat for income if things get bad and mother's job doesn't cover costs. I also make Prim promise never to apply for any tesserae. Father wouldn't let her of course, the only reason I managed was that I did it without telling him first. Still I feel better for saying it.

Then it's Prim's turn, she tries to convince me that I have a chance and makes me promise that I will try to win. I agree for her sake, but as I meet my parents' eyes over the top of her head I can see they hold a fear that it won't be true. Then it's my father's turn and that is when I really have to try not to cry.

"Remember everything I taught you Katniss. You're a good hunter and you can handle a bow. More importantly, you're quick and you've got a good head on those shoulders. Use that to your advantage. There will be plenty of tributes who have trained with weapons every day since they were tall enough to carry them, but you can outthink them." Then comes the clincher. The one that really does have me blinking back the tears. "Trust your instincts, they're good ones. And remember, that whatever happens, we love you and we'll be proud of you."

And then the Peacemakers are back and we're all hugging and my mother and prim are crying. The last thing I'm aware of is my father's gentle fingers on my cheek and then they are gone. I am almost composed again when Madge Undersee comes in to visit. For some reason I find this unexpected, even though she is my friend, the only one I have other than Gale. Even more unexpected however is her gift to me of a mockingjay brooch. She is quite insistent that I wear it in the arena and I agree. Mostly because I think she is about to cry. We hug and she kisses my cheek and then she is gone and my last visitor slips in through the door.

Gale.

Neither of us says a word. He just holds out his arms and unhesitating I walk into them, resting my head above his heart. There is nothing romantic between us. I think my mother would be pleased if there was, but Gale will always only be my friend however special our bond is.

As fast as he can he starts telling me how to stay alive in the arena. To get a knife. Make a bow, even a badly made one.

"I don't even know if there'll be wood," I murmur into his chest.

"There's almost always some wood." His voice is practical. "Since that year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that."

He tries to convince me that it will be exactly like our weekly hunting sessions. I'm not sure whether or not I find that comforting.

Then the Peacekeepers return, dragging him away whilst I try to cling to his hand.

"Don't let them starve!" I yell.

"I won't! You know I won't! Katniss, remember I -" The door is about to close on him and Gale pushes back against the white uniforms trying to restrain him. "I love you!"

The door slams and I am left alone with his revelation.

xxx

A/N: So there. What do you think, is it worth continuing? It wasn't really the direction I had intended the chapter going in, but as I was writing I found that Gale had other ideas. He's headstrong like that.


	2. Nothing

Nothing

I'm barely given a minute to myself to process Gale's words when the Peacekeepers return, escorting me in stony silence to a waiting car. Clearly dealing with declarations of love was not something Effie had left room in the schedule for. If I'm honest it was never really something I had left room in my life for.

The plan had been simple. Survive. Don't fall in love. Don't have children. Don't get reaped for the Hunger Games. It is all going brilliantly so far.

I'm so preoccupied thinking about it all, trying not to think about the fact I might be dead soon, and making sure I don't walk into one of the many cameras being shoved into my face that I'm on the train and we're pulling away from the station before I even notice that Peeta has obviously been crying.

Is that part of his strategy? He wouldn't be the first tribute to try it, but somehow I doubt it. Those shoulders are too broad and powerful looking to pull it off convincingly. Seeing me staring in his direction Peeta flashes me a tentative smile. I drop my eyes quickly just as Effie totters up to us on her ridiculous heels.

"Now, isn't this just lovely? Come on, follow me, I'll show you to your rooms." As I follow her I wonder whether she had to be completely insane to end up with this job or whether coaching the dismally fated tributes from District 12 every year has made her that way.

"These are yours, Katniss. There's a bathroom through that door with all the usual conveniences." Usual for the Capitol, I think sullenly, in the Seam we have a tin tub and a kettle. "And that is your wardrobe. There are some really beautiful things in there so feel free to try on anything you like, you lucky thing!" And with this effusive declaration of my good fortune she informs me that dinner will be served in an hour before whisking away a bemused Peeta. I am left alone again.

In the shower I let the warm, honey-scented, water rush over me (I've never particularly liked honey, but I can't work out how to change the setting) as I try to sort things out in my head. Gale loves me. What did he mean by that? I have a horrible feeling that he didn't mean in a platonic way, but I'll never have a chance to ask him now. The realisation makes me feel slightly sick and leads to other thoughts and darker places. I pull back from there abruptly.

Turning off the shower I am suddenly engulfed in a blast of hot air that has me dried in seconds, and probably with several layers of skin baked off too. Wrapping a conveniently hung robe around myself I go to examine the wardrobe Effie was raving about. Inside is what might possibly constitute my worst nightmare. Row upon row of brightly coloured furs, frills, froths of netting and swathes of fabric I have no desire to know the name of, explode out at me. Baffled, I stare at it for a moment. Surely I'm not expected to wear this? To dress like… like they do in the Capitol? Like Effie?

My mind flashes to the sort of comments Gale would make if he could see me dressed in this; I know him so well that I can almost hear his voice in the room with me. This thought makes me falter. Do I really know him as well as I imagined? If he does love me like… _that_, then I'd never picked up on it. Never in any of our Sundays hunting together had it ever been a serious consideration; when I had told my mother it was impossible I had really thought I was being truthful. Why did he have to spoil things?

My loathing for the confection of clothes hanging in front of me triples and I glare at it for triggering such thoughts. Still, I do need something to wear. Eventually after some cautious rummaging I manage to locate a conservative green shirt and a pair of trousers. Fixing on the pin Madge gave me I twist my wet hair into a plait before going in search of the dining room. I assume there is a dining room; there could be a whole fleet of restaurants on this train for all I know.

When I get there Peeta is already sitting at a table piled high with fragile looking crockery. Our eyes meet for a second and I pause in the doorway.

"Hi." It's the only thing I can think of that will break the silence.

He responds with a similar greeting as I continue to hover, then, "you can come in you know. I'm not going to bite."

Despite myself I feel a smile begin to creep across my cheeks at the idea of Peeta Mellark being anything but gentle and thoughtful. Then I remember we're in the Games now, where it doesn't matter who you are or what you were. In an instant my customary scowl is back and I focus on crossing the room, avoiding his eyes, sitting in the unreasonably cushioned chair. It's not Peeta's fault, I know that, it all comes back to the Capitol, but there's no one else here to vent my anger at. As a result we sit for the next few minutes in sullen silence as I trace the patterns around the edge of my plate.

The silence is shortened by Effie's reappearance. She has changed into another, equally bright set of clothes, a glaringly orange suit this time which clashes painfully with her hair.

"Where's Haymitch?" Her tone is as bubbly as ever even though I suspect she really doesn't care about the answer.

Peeta tells her he has gone for a nap and I swear I see relief on her face. I try not to smile again, but then I go and make the mistake of glancing up towards Peeta. He is watching me again, laughter playing around the corners of his brilliantly blue eyes. I can't help it. This time the smile won't leave my face when I tell it to.

After that the silence at the table is of a different sort, well, it isn't really silence, Effie chatters blithely away about the Capitol and how we're both going to have a _fabulous_ time, but Peeta and I don't say a word. We're both too busy eating every single thing we can see. I'm actually really enjoying myself until Effie makes some comment about our table manners and how "savage" last year's tributes had been. I knew one of them: an underfed, scrawny boy of thirteen who lived along the street from us and had a persistent hacking cough. His mother hasn't left the house since he was bludgeoned to death on national television. I make a point to eat the rest of the meal with my hands.

Afterwards Effie leads us to another carriage to watch the recap of the Reapings. I have to make sure that I sit down quite slowly so as not to dislodge any of the food I have just stuffed into myself. As he sits gingerly next to me on the sofa, I notice that Peeta looks a little under the weather too. If I had felt sick before though, it is nothing to how I feel as I watch tribute after tribute being reaped. I will meet these people in a few days; I will be expected to kill them in a few days more.

We reach District 11's reaping and a tiny mite of a girl, barely old enough to have her name entered, is called forward. She reminds me so forcefully of Prim that I can't help it, a small, choked noise escapes me. I feel a warm pressure against my fingers and look down with a start. Another hand, Peeta's hand, covers my own. I look up at him, so surprised that I forget to try and pull away. For the second time since we got on the train he watches me with those blue eyes in that odd way he has. I search his face and something about it makes me suspect he knows exactly what I am thinking. My mouth opens, I am about to say something, although I don't for the life of me know what it is, but nothing comes out. I sit there, my hand still in his, my mind more vacant than I'm sure Effie's has ever been, and stare at him. After a moment he smiles, gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and then relinquishes it, turning his focus back to the television.

What was that about? I have no idea what to think. Why is Peeta Mellark still being nice to me? Is it just such an ingrained part of his nature that despite the fact we are being thrust into the arena in a few days he can't break the habit? Not for the first time today my mind is reeling, but I don't have any time to focus on it. They are showing our reaping now, me volunteering, Haymitch falling off the stage. I try to focus on the television and forget the heat of his hand. I'm not sure I'm entirely successful.

As the recap ends there is an explosive bang as the compartment door is thrown back and the man I had just watched take a nose dive from the stage staggers into the room. "I miss much?" He releases a reverberating belch.

Effie, who has only just finished bemoaning Haymitch's less appealing qualities, rolls her eyes with a loud tut and stalks from the room making a great show of using the exit which is furthest from our new mentor. I'm not sure whether I imagine the satisfied glint in his eye as he watches her go.

"So, is that a yes then?" He flops onto an expensive looking armchair and I am suddenly hit by the strong smell of liquor. Peeta's nose wrinkles slightly and it's all I can do to keep my own face still, neither of us say anything. "S'pose you saw my glorious dive off the stage again?" Haymitch continues, referring to his earlier acrobatics at the ceremony. "Couldn't let you two hog all the limelight."

"You mean Katniss." There is no malice or jealousy in Peeta's tone, there isn't even the usual quiet kindness I have come to associate with him. In fact his remark is carefully devoid of all emotion. I frown at him in confusion, but he isn't looking my way. Instead he is watching Haymitch closely, and Haymitch, who suddenly seems a whole lot less drunk than he did a second ago, is returning the look appraisingly. I suddenly feel very insignificant in the room. As though a conversation is being conducted around me in a foreign language, which to be honest isn't that far off what I think is happening. The two of them seem to be communicating with their eyes in a way that Gale and I often do, except this time I haven't a clue what's being said.

"What -?"

Before I can even get the question out, Haymitch cuts me off. "I think you two should probably head to bed now. It's been a long day. Don't want to miss out on beauty sleep before you get to the Capitol."

I consider arguing, but at his words I suddenly realise that I am completely exhausted, too exhausted to contradict him, so I follow Peeta to my feet, mumble goodnight and we leave the carriage. My hand is resting on the handle to my room, Peeta is just walking away from me, when suddenly I remember my question.

"Peeta?"

He turns. "Yeah?"

"What did you mean, back there, when you said Haymitch was just trying to stop me from hogging all the limelight?" The frown on my face is confused now.

"Well, it wasn't till the audience gave you that salute that he started shouting at the cameras and being, well, being Haymitch. The cameras focused on him falling off the stage rather than you or the crowd. I just wondered if it was deliberate that was all."

I feel my brows lift up and away from my eyes. The thought had never occurred to me before. "Oh." It makes sense I suppose, in a weird way, but then Haymitch being drunk and obnoxious makes just as much sense too. Unless you count the glimmer in his eye as he drove Effie from the compartment earlier. Suddenly I am considering the possibility that Haymitch is a whole lot smarter than I give him credit for. I knew he must have been smart once, after all, stupid people don't become Victors, but perhaps some of his brain has escaped the pickling effects of white liquor. I can't believe I didn't consider this before.

Peeta did though. An icy hand seems to settle in my stomach. Perceptive, kind and obviously fiercely intelligent, add that to his strength and the baker's son will be a deadly opponent in the arena.

"What are you thinking?" His question breaks my train of thought.

I stare at Peeta Mellark as I try to sort out the inside of my head. I seem to be doing a lot of that today. How do I answer? Truthfully? I'm thinking about Haymitch and whether or not he'll get us killed within the first five minutes. I'm thinking about you, whether or not I can trust you and how on earth I'm going to be able to go into the arena knowing that at least one of us is guaranteed to die. The thought I might have to kill him myself is too repulsive to even contemplate. I'm thinking about Gale and his desperate declaration. I'm thinking about my mother and father and Prim and how much I miss them already. I'll probably never see them again. I'm thinking about so many things that any reasonable person's brain would explode with it all.

"Nothing." I answer.

"Liar," he grins, amused, and I feel my stomach perform a strange flip again. Where did that come from? I definitely must have eaten too much at dinner.

I roll my eyes in what must be a brilliant impersonation of Effie. "Fine," my voice is more teasing than I intended, but I can't seem to inject it with my usual sarcasm. "Well, since you seem to know everything already, I'll wish you goodnight."

His chuckle follows me into my room.

Stripping off my clothes I fall into bed. I had intended to use the time to think about Gale, not in that way, but to sort out where on earth his love had come from. We were just friends. That was it. Wasn't it? My thoughts refuse to focus on any one element of my situation though. Everything I had just considered revealing to Peeta churns around inside my skull making me restless and for some reason my thoughts keep going back to a certain pair of blue eyes, watching me, judging me. Eventually the motion of the train and the fact that I'm so tired means that I crash headlong into the realms of sleep.

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

I groan and pull the thick blankets over my head as each shrill word of Effie's is punctuated by an insistent rapping on the door. Bizarrely, however, despite everything I ate last night, I find that I'm ravenously hungry again and the smell of fresh bread billowing under my door is too tempting to ignore for long. Pulling on the same clothes as the day before, I pad along the corridor until I find the dining car.

"Morning," I mumble.

Effie pushes past, clutching a cup of coffee and muttering obscenities under her breath. I don't hear much but I manage to catch Haymitch's name and several rather derogatory comparisons to farmyard animals. I do my level best not to laugh. Taking a seat next to Peeta I have a sneaking suspicion that he and Haymitch were talking a moment before, but stopped when I came in. I'm too interested in the food to give it much more thought though.

"Here," Peeta says eventually. "Try some of this." He pours a cup of thick, brown liquid and pushes it in my direction. I examine it critically for a moment, my nose wrinkled with curious trepidation. It looks rich and silky, a fine sheen settles on the top of the liquid and it smells sweet and glorious and…

"What is it?" I ask.

"Hot chocolate. Try it."

I give the cup another cautious sniff, ignoring the smile spreading across Peeta's face as he watches me, before sipping gingerly. The taste is everything implied by the smell and more: it is incredibly sweet, but there is a bitter undertone too, it is fiery, but the smoothness of the liquid means it doesn't hurt, it reminds me of forests and fruit and a warm fire in winter. My eyes grow wide as I look back up at him.

"It's amazing… it's really…" I try to think of the right word to describe so many things. "Complicated." I finish lamely.

He smirks. "I like complicated." For some reason I don't think he is speaking about the drink any more, but then I have no idea what he might be referring too. Instead of adding yet another mystery to the great list of things I need to make sense of in my head I concentrate on draining my cup, then filling another, then another.

Once I am finished I focus my attention on Haymitch. He still hasn't said a word since I entered the compartment and as intent as I was on my chocolate he seems to be even more absorbed by the liquor he keeps pouring into his juice. Irked I break the silence.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." It's not a question.

"Here's some advice." He adds another splash to his glass. "Stay alive."

I am just about to decide how furious I should bother getting when the inebriated chuckle emanating from the older man is interrupted by the sound of smashing glass. Peeta has swept Haymitch's drink from the table sending it flying across the compartment to shatter against the wall. Red liquid trickles slowly to the floor as the boy stands over him, blue eyes steely and almost trembling with rage.

"That's very funny." His voice is low and dangerous. "Only not to us."

I blink.

When did Peeta stop being so mild and affable all the time? I had no idea he had it in him.

All at once, in a motion almost too quick for my eye to follow, Haymitch surges to his own feet, his fist landing squarely on Peeta's jaw. And suddenly it's as though we're all jack-in-the-boxes because I'm on my feet too, the knife I wasn't even aware I was clutching leaving my hand.

"Well, what's this?" He squints at the blade still quivering in the table. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

The answer is yes, yes he has. As a result Haymitch spends the next few minutes determining what our strengths are and giving us really useful tips like: do _everything_ your stylist says. I can tell I'm going to love doing that. Then he is gone and the two of us are left alone in the compartment again.

I glance around, searching for something to say. In the silence all I can hear is the gentle drip of Haymitch's drink as it spills from the wall to the floor. I glance at it but the streak of scarlet liquid reminds me far too much of blood; instead my gaze centres on the angry red welt slowly blooming on Peeta's face.

"That's going to leave a nasty bruise," I tell him.

"What?" His face creases in confusion for a moment and for some unfathomable reason I find it amusing.

"This." My hand moves up of its own volition and my fingertips graze his bruised cheek. I hesitate, I'm not even sure why I did that. Peeta has gone incredibly still and I can feel his shallow breath against my palm. Our eyes lock for a moment before something in his gaze makes me pull my hand away quickly. "You should probably get some ice onto it." The words come out in a rush and I step over to the table scooping some of the frozen, gritty substance from a tureen. "Here."

"Thanks." He presses it to his cheek and seems about to say something else when suddenly the windows are plunged into blackness.

"What…?" I trail off and Peeta voices the stomach churning realisation that has just hit me.

"Oh. This is it. We must be at the Capitol."

A/N: Again, I hope that people like it. I'll try and update every Friday from now, or that's the plan anyway!


	3. Girl on Fire

A/N: So I know I said Friday would be update day and it's now Saturday, buuuut… I have no excuse. Sorry and enjoy! On another note, I love awkward conversations between Katniss and Peeta so there are plenty here.

Disclaimer: Still not Suzanne Collins, still penniless, still a fan.

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Girl on Fire

"Ugh!" I pull at the neck of my black unitard which seems to be made of some sort of soft black plastic, I'm not entirely sure, but I do know that it is sticking to me uncomfortably. I don't feel myself in the outfit and even the little bit of make up my stylist Cinna has applied to my face makes me feel like ripping the skin off. Not that there is probably any left to remove, my prep team have already seen to that. Instead I just claw awkwardly at the costume as we wait for Peeta and a woman called Portia to appear.

"You'll be fine," Cinna places a calming hand over my own, and for some reason I find it working.

We don't have much longer to wait before Peeta and his stylist appear.

"I like your costume," he jokes.

I find myself echoing his mood. "Yeah, it's not too bad, better than yours anyway."

He grins as we step into the elevator, dressed identically, and zip down to the ground floor.

"What do you think?" I ask him as we are bundled into chariots and arranged like mannequins. "About the fire?"

My nervousness must show in my face or my voice because he smiles reassuringly and our joking continues for a few moments more. Until the anthem starts. Until Cinna turns up with a blow torch. I want to protest, I'd love to ask if there are any spare coal miner suits lying around, but then I remember my promise to Haymitch. I glance towards Peeta who shrugs in defeat and allows his cape to be set aflame.

I screw my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable burn, the searing heat that will melt the flesh from my bones. Only it doesn't come; instead a gentle tickling sensation begins, warm and caressing like the sun on a summer afternoon. My eyes slide open a crack and I squint cautiously at myself. Sure enough the headdress and the cape appear to be on fire, but somehow I am unscathed.

I feel rather than hear Peeta chuckling and my eyes flick upwards. Is he laughing at me? His blue eyes, shimmering with golden light are on me, but the minute I see him the thought is swept aside by another. He looks so… hypnotic. I don't think I've ever described someone as hypnotic before, it sounds ridiculous, but I struggle to think of another way to convey it, he looks powerful and godlike and brave and beautiful and I can't seem to un-glue my eyes from his face. Until the chariot suddenly jumps forward and we are swept out of the Remake Centre.

"Cinna's saying we should hold hands." Peeta's voice in my ear tickles more than the flames. For some reason the flames surrounding me choose that moment to heat my face making it look like I'm blushing. I'm not. I twist, trying to get a glimpse of my stylist and before he is swept entirely from my view I see him nodding vigorously, holding his own two hands together. I allow Peeta's fingers to twine with mine.

As we speed along waving like mad things at the Capitol audience who seem to have gone berserk over our appearance, I can't help but wonder what my father thinks right now. I know he is watching me; these are just one portion of the Games which are compulsory for everyone in Panem. Is he still proud of me or does he think I look ridiculous? I catch sight of myself on one of the enormous screens littering our route and I almost don't recognize myself. Flames are flowing out behind me, Peeta's and my hands are upraised, clasped firmly together – when had that happened? – and the make up on my face makes me seem older and… I'm not sure how to describe it. I'll never be beautiful, but there is something about me. Like Peeta I am hypnotic.

And for some reason Gale's face flashes across my mind and this time I am definitely blushing and suddenly very grateful for the thin concealment of the flames.

My mind is such a jumble of confused thoughts that it takes me a few seconds to realise that we have entered the City Circle. We loop round allowing the crazed Capitol citizens one last look at the tributes, or rather Peeta and me since we are all any of them seem to care about now. As the chariot begins to slow I move to release Peeta's hand, but he clutches it tighter, something I hadn't thought possible given the death grip I currently have on it.

"No, don't let go of me. Please, I might fall out of this thing."

"Alright. I won't let you go."

"Promise?" He asks, the flames flickering oddly in his eyes which have become a dark blue in the fading light.

"Promise," I tell him, but I can't help the feeling that we're having two completely separate conversations again, only I can't for the life of me work out what they are. I'm not given much more time to think about it though because President Snow has started to speak, welcoming us all to the Hunger Games and, much as Effie had, telling us what an honour it is. Except something more deadly and unlike Effie is difficult to imagine. Snow has none of her affected Capitol attitude, and for all that his face has been surgically 'enhanced' it serves to make him repellent rather than ridiculous. Despite the gentle warmth of the flames I feel a chill rush down my spine and my hand reflexively grips Peeta's. I can see him glance my way, but shake my head, refusing to make eye contact, yet trying to indicate that I'm fine at the same time.

It's not until later, when we've been extinguished and congratulated and Effie has gushed over every detail of the ceremony till the cows come home and we are finally allowed to slink off to change out of our costumes that he asks me what had been wrong.

"Nothing." My lie of the previous night spills over my lips before I can contain it. I catch his eye ruefully and we both laugh.

"Nothing _really_," I amend. "It was just seeing Snow -" I suddenly realise that the corridor might be bugged and stumble to a halt mid-sentence. Peeta seems to understand however and reaches a reassuring hand towards me. For the first time I do not flinch away from his touch.

"It makes the Games seem all the more real, doesn't it?" I can tell from the expression on his face that he knows what I really meant and that he also realises why I stopped. It makes me feel less alone somehow.

"Yes." I finally move away from him. What am I doing allowing Peeta Mellark to comfort me? In a week we're going to be fighting to the death. I can't let him be nice to me as part of some agenda he has. The thought that it might not be an act, that he might really be trying to reach out to me, is an even scarier concept. If I let him in then I might as well plaster a great big sign to my head saying "I have a weakness." No, I have to go into this thing completely and utterly alone. Besides, his fingers were making my skin tingle. "I have to go and change, Peeta."

As I move to leave it is his turn to have the last word. "Thanks for keeping hold of me. In the chariot. I was getting a little shaky there."

I look at him and a smile begins forming around the corners of my mouth before I remember my new resolution. "I have to go." I disappear quickly down the corridor to my room.

I needn't have been so hasty, after all there is almost a full two hours before Effie's exacting schedule dictates we will eat dinner, but it does allow me time to explore my new surroundings. The shower in the Training Centre is even more complicated than the one on the train and it takes me all my time to work out which buttons produce jets of water and which ones emit nothing but jasmine scented bubbles, or worse, rose petals. I'm still picking pieces of the silky flower from my hair as I change into a different outfit and snack on pieces of frothy Capitol cake.

Dinner begins well, or as well as a meal with Effie and Haymitch both in attendance could ever begin. Our mentor seems to have made good on his promise to sober up for the Games, he looks neater than I've ever seen him, although he does still pour himself a glass of liquor. It's all relative I guess.

Servers dressed in icy white uniforms patter around us in silence, I don't pay them much attention until a catch sight of a young woman with fiery red hair. I pause, a forkful of beef in some kind of sweet, sticky sauce halfway to my mouth. Frowning in concentration I try to place her. She wasn't on the train and she can't be from District 12, no one is allowed to leave the District unless, well, unless they're chosen for the Hunger Games.

"What is it?" Peeta's whisper is pitched so that only I can hear it.

"I just… It doesn't matter." I focus on my meal again, pushing pieces of beef and spirals of potato around on my plate, because all at once I remember where I've seen her before. Images of a sunny day, hunting with Gale, two bedraggled, starved children, a hovercraft, all these things spring across my mind accompanied by the high pitched scream of a girl. The very girl calmly pouring out more coffee for Portia right now. Guilt clutches at my stomach. I had come across the very same girl in the forest, she had been captured before my very eyes by the Capitol and I had done nothing to stop it. I find my appetite has vanished and quietly replace the fork and knife on my plate.

I'm only half paying attention as we finish the meal and watch the recap of the Opening Ceremony, although it is enough to realise again how amazing Peeta and I look cloaked in fire. When Peeta and I are dismissed I loiter in the hallway, waiting for Haymitch to stumble from the room so that I can talk to him. He seems surprised to find me there.

"Planning to kill me, sweetheart?"

"No." My fingers fiddle with the end of my plait as I try to work out exactly what it is I want to ask. "Haymitch?"

"That's my name."

I scowl. "The servers at dinner… why do… what… Are they from the Capitol?"

He gives me an odd look. I can tell he's trying to work out why I've asked.

"They're Avoxes. Traitors to the Capitol. Their tongues are cut so they can't talk."

"Oh." I'm not sure what else to say, though I'm probably about to be sick so keeping my mouth shut seems like the best idea.

That night I lie awake for a long while. Tossing and turning. Thinking about the girl with the red hair, attempting to work out what to do about Peeta, trying to see a way I might have a hope against the twenty-three other tributes, struggling to sort out how I feel about Gale, I'm closer to him than almost anyone and we are so alike, but could I ever love him back? Contemplating whether my answer to that even matters, wondering what my family are doing right now. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning a song my father used to sing before his accident to comfort Prim and I drifts into my head and I allow it to mill around, the melody forcing out all other thoughts, allowing the words to become the only things in my mind.

_As the mist curls over the mountains high_

_And the morning sun shines its golden light_

_I did see my true love awaiting for me_

_Under skies of blue as true as his eyes_

It goes on like that; a sentimental song, but I like it and gently it begins to lull me to sleep.

The next morning I find I am the first down to breakfast so I pile a plate high with food and stand by an enormous window watching the sun rise over the Capitol. My lullaby of the previous night is still meandering around my subconscious and I find myself singing softly between mouthfuls of toasted bread.

"That's a really pretty song."

I spin round, my hand shooting out to steady the plate of food which is about to go flying across the room.

"Sorry," Peeta grins apologetically at me from the doorway. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Did… were you – how long have you been standing there?" I stutter. I have never been able to take a compliment. Much to my irritation I find a blush creeping across my cheeks again. Katniss Everdeen never blushes and yet I've lost count of how many times I've done it in the last three days.

"Don't be embarrassed," Peeta goes over to the breakfast table and begins serving himself. "You've got a beautiful voice."

I shake my head silently. My father was the one with the beautiful voice, before, not me. When he sang even the birds stopped to listen to him. Even now, there is always music somewhere in our house and it's the only place I ever normally allow myself to sing, unless I am alone in the forest. Peeta is probably the first person other than my family to hear my voice. Why did it have to be Peeta Mellark of all people?

He saves me from having to say any of this by raising the steaming pot of hot chocolate in my direction. "Want another cup?"

"I…" I'm thrown off course slightly by his question. "Yeah, sure. Thanks." There is silence as he pours. He hands me the cup and I hesitate as I notice the design on the side. It is a dandelion. I hesitate. There are several things I will forever associate with Peeta. The first, for both obvious and obscure reasons, is bread. Peeta Mellark, my boy with the bread. Wait a minute, _my_ boy, when did he become mine? _The_ boy with the bread. The second thing is dandelions, whenever I see them I am reminded of the hope he gave me, and the third was beginning to be hot chocolate. Now here they are together. Is this the universe trying to tell me something? If it is I wish it would be less cryptic about it. I've never been a massive fan of subtlety.

By now Peeta has noticed my reticence and is looking at me in concern. "Katniss? Are you alright? Is it too hot?"

"No," I plaster my most charming smile onto my face. "No, it's lovely thank you." I accept the cup and take a sip to prove my point. I was right, it's not too hot, it's boiling and I think I may have scalded my tongue, but I hold back a wince.

"So," he breaks another silence as it threatens to lengthen awkwardly between us. "Are you nervous about today?"

I consider lying. Telling him that no, I have complete confidence in my own abilities, but then I've never been a brilliant liar as Peeta so astutely pointed out, and my father hates when I do. Besides there is something in Peeta's demeanour that just makes me feel incredibly guilty when I lie to him, maybe it's because he is so intolerably good. Even a nonchalant shrug would seem deceitful.

"A little."

"Me too." His brows crinkle with worry and I fight the urge to find it endearing. "Has Haymitch said anything to you about what our tactics should be yet?"

I shake my head and recall my last conversation with our mentor. It does strike me as odd that he hasn't let us in on the plan yet, even as incapacitated with alcohol as he is ninety percent of the time, he had said he would try his best to help us through this.

Just at that moment the man himself walks into the room. "Mornin' sweetheart. Peeta. All set for training?"

Despite the fact that neither of us are nearly prepared enough we both nod. Haymitch then begins to quiz us on what skills we have and we answer. I say we answer, we actually fall to arguing about who can do things better, each trying to show that the other has a better chance. I can hear myself insisting that he's strong and the best wrestler that I know and I'm not sure why I do it. Everything I say is true, but what purpose does my belligerence on the subject serve? I also hadn't realised that I'd paid so much attention to Peeta over the years. After he had thrown me the bread that day in the rain I had always been aware of him, but had I really been paying _that_ much attention? It is only when he tells me that his mother thinks I would win over him that my irrational anger dies abruptly.

True, my life has been hard, but Peeta's life has been no picnic either; he just suffers in a different way. I remember the angry red welt across his face on the day of the bread, the bruises that would occasionally turn up on his cheeks at school and his mother's constant screeching at anyone within a fifty yard radius, but particularly directed towards her family. And me, she reserves a particular antipathy for me which I could never really explain. Still, someone as good and kind as Peeta does not deserve that.

"She shouldn't have said that," I whisper. "You've got just as much chance as anyone. More even; you're smart. She should see that."

Peeta is looking at me with an expression I can't fathom. "She already had two boys to be smart and strong when I came along, and I guess she was always sore that I wasn't a girl."

My mind flashes to my father who had wanted a son until his two girls came along and has always been the most devoted parent imaginable. "Well, she doesn't know a good thing when she's got one." The words are out of my mouth before I even knew I was thinking them. They're true though, so I don't try and take them back.

There is a long silence as Peeta and I stare at each other. I'm not sure who would have spoken first if Haymitch hadn't reminded us of his existence.

"Isn't this just touching? Have you two quite finished or don't you want to hear what I have to say about sponsors any more?"

I glance swiftly away from Peeta, and the two of us begin to trip over ourselves to discover Haymitch's fascinating pearls of wisdom.


	4. Teamwork

A/N: Late again I know, perhaps I should just say I'll update on a Saturday? It'll be on a day ending in 'y' anyway. Anyhoo… read and enjoy (that was an order not a suggestion!)

Disclaimer: If you think I am Suzanne Collins you may need your head examined. I just borrow and abuse her wonderful characters.

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Teamwork

_She has no idea. The effect she can have_.

It was what Peeta had told Haymitch when I said he had as good a chance to get sponsors as I did. A whole day and still it is swirling around inside my head. What did he mean? Was it a ploy to throw me off course? If it was it's working. I remember my father telling me to trust my instincts and right now my instincts are telling me that Peeta is too nice for such an underhanded trick. The alternative, however, is that he meant it as a genuine compliment, and the idea of that is just as distracting. Of course the fact that Peeta, obeying our mentor's command, hasn't left my side since we started training has made it difficult to focus on much else.

Yesterday we divided our time between the knot-tying station and camouflage. I didn't really learn much at the first other than the fact it is an unpopular choice and the trainer was over the moon to have company for a few hours. At the second I was hopeless, but I did discover that Peeta is an incredibly skilled artist. I had never realised he decorated all the cakes in his family's bakery. Every year my mother would save up a little money to buy a very small one for my father's birthday. He loved them and it was his one indulgence so she would put a little of her meagre wages aside at a time and then the evening before she would send me across to buy one. It seems strange knowing now that Peeta had made them. It seems I am far more connected to the boy with the bread than I had ever appreciated.

This morning we are working with spears and knives. I've never been as good at it as Gale, who can hit a moving animal from thirty feet, but I do manage to hit the stationary target every time, even if it's not quite in the centre. Perhaps the reminder of Gale was what was distracting me, perhaps it was the proximity of Peeta and his words.

After about half an hour at the shelter station I begin to struggle with my structure. It's not that I don't know how to make it. I know exactly what I should be doing. Before his accident my father showed me countless times what to do and how to survive if ever I was caught beyond the fence after dark. The problem is the plastic sheet I'm trying to turn into a tent; it's just too large and unruly. Normally I would just cut the thing up, but as the trainer pointed out, once I'm in the arena I might need to use plastic sheeting for other things and I can't afford to disadvantage myself by destroying my supplies.

I try flapping the thing out so that it lands on top of my wooden construct, but it just keeps twisting around my arms and going awry. The fourth time this happens I emit a growl of frustration and go to throw it on the ground, but just as I do I hear a chuckle behind me.

"Want a hand?"

I look round to find Peeta watching me, amusement dancing in his clear, blue eyes.

"No." I turn my back on him again.

"Don't be so stubborn," he ignores me and picks up a corner of the plastic sheet anyway. "You're as bad as Haymitch sometimes."

"Ouch!"

That produces another chuckle and I can't help but smile myself.

"Katniss Everdeen, beaten by a sheet of plastic." He grins at me as we stretch it out. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut it, Mellark," I tell him as we tie the sheet securely in place. I hate to admit it, but it is much easier with two.

He smirks again as we finish. "See, perfect." He pats the plastic roof we have just created with satisfaction. "You just needed my expertise to -" He doesn't get any further because the whole thing chooses that exact moment to collapse loudly into a heap on the floor.

I begin to giggle. I can't help it, the look of shock and hurt on his face is so funny and endearing. As though the shelter had somehow betrayed him grievously. My giggle soon becomes a full-bellied laugh which prompts the corner of Peeta's mouth to twitch and before we know it the two of us have crumpled faster than the tent and are lying on the floor, clutching our sides and weeping with laughter. All the tension of the last week rolls out of me and for a moment it's as though I'm back in District 12 having fun with a neighbour, a friend.

By the time I've calmed down enough to get my breath back the entire room is staring at us. Some in bewilderment, some in concern, the Careers are glaring at us with outright hatred and disdain. I don't care. My eyes flick towards Peeta and he produces another snort of repressed amusement.

"Don't start again," I warn him. He makes a great pantomime of sealing his lips and straightening his face.

I get slowly to my feet. "I'm going to light fires or something. You're incorrigible."

I spend the next hour pondering what just happened and the implications it might have. Peeta is funny. There's no getting away from it: despite my best efforts to stay serious and aloof he makes me laugh. I think of my earlier fleeting thought that laughing with him was like being with a friend at home. Not that I have many of those, in fact none beyond Madge and Gale, but the fact I considered Peeta as anything remotely resembling a friend is worrying. We can't be friends. It will just make things even messier and more horrendous than they need to be in the coming days.

I harden my resolve to keep my distance from him.

After dinner that night he makes a joke about Haymitch and his drinking and I almost find myself laughing again, it's so easy around him. I manage to hold it in though.

"Please don't, Peeta. Don't make it worse."

The wrinkle between his brows reappears. For a second I think he might pretend to be naïve and ask what I'm talking about, but as I told him, he's smart. Instead he just asks. "Why?"

Why? Why don't I want to make friends with Peeta Mellark when I know that one if not both of us will be dead within weeks, maybe even days? Why don't I want to open myself up to the possibility of getting hurt like that? When the mine collapsed on top of my father I spent hours not knowing if he was dead or alive and I felt as though someone was slowly scraping out my heart with a blunt knife. I don't ever want to have to go through pain like that again. This seems too personal an admission however, but what can I say instead. Nothing? Lie? I've already found I can't lie to Peeta Mellark. As I scan his blue eyes for any sign that this is some plot or ploy, I find the words slip out before I'm even aware of them.

"Because you might die."

His eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe and now he is the one searching my expression intently. I can't tell if he finds what he was looking for or not, but he gives me a smile that is sad and tired, but also full of some unspoken happiness at the same time.

"I know," he tells me. "That's the point. I could be dead in a few days and I want to enjoy every single moment I have left, even if I am stuck in the Capitol with Haymitch and Effie." That is one joke I can't laugh at.

"Please, Peeta," I repeat.

He gives me another long look. "Alright. Alright, Katniss. Goodnight." And with that he vanishes.

I'm not sure if our conversation and Peeta's resultant silence the next morning put me on edge, or whether it was a culmination of everything that has happened since Reaping day, but the next day I snap. They call us after lunch to our private sessions with the Gamesmakers and when my turn comes I completely lose my head. I have no idea what possesses me, but when they ignore me for the first five minutes of my session I take my bow and arrow and fire at them. Actually at them. Right into the middle of the feasting, carousing, fat, murderous lot of them. Well, technically, as I point out later to an apoplectic Effie, I fired at an apple stuffed in a pig's mouth. I couldn't help it if the pig happened to be right in the midst of them.

The funny thing is, I can't tell what angers her more, the fact I fired at the Capitol's minions or the fact that I was rude enough to leave without being dismissed. Haymitch on the other hand seems to find the entire episode hilarious, even Cinna and Portia are smiling by the time I finish recounting the incident at dinner that night. I smile too until I remember that I'll probably have earned myself a zero. I think of Prim and my parents watching at home, how I'll have let them down again, and cringe inwardly.

Peeta notices.

"Don't worry about it, Katniss, it's like Cinna said: you could have been trying to score badly on purpose. And at least you made an impact, I just chucked heavy things around like a crazy bear. I nearly took my own foot off at one point."

The image brings the smile back to my cheeks and I cover my mouth with a napkin to hide it.

When we all sit down to watch the scoring I find myself wedged between Peeta and Haymitch on the sofa. I notice that our mentor doesn't smell as strongly of alcohol as he normally does and there's less of a glaze over his eyes too. It doesn't stop him from belching loudly and behaving as badly as ever, but the amusement in his eyes when Effie tuts loudly and throws blistering glares our way makes me wonder how much of it is for her benefit. I think of the similar expression I caught on his face when we were on the train and can't help the thought that perhaps Haymitch is never as drunk as he pretends to be. I'm prevented from exploring this intriguing possibility further though when the television suddenly starts blaring the national anthem and Caesar Flickerman appears on screen.

District 12 comes last and we all hold our breath as Peeta's face appears on screen. The silence turns into a roar of approval as an eight flashes under his name.

"Well done, Peeta," I tell him. "That's really good." I know my congratulations won't help my endeavour to distance myself from him in the slightest, but as my father always says: credit where credit's due.

My own face appearing on the screen pulls my eyes back to it. Dread settles in my stomach as I wait expectantly. The pause before my scoring seems to be more drawn out than for any of the others; is it really so bad that they are delaying showing it? Maybe I didn't get any score at all, perhaps even a zero is too good for someone who has shot at the Gamesmakers.

So it is with detached elation and a vast dose of bewilderment that I see an eleven suddenly appear under my name. Eleven? How on earth did I manage that? I don't think I've ever seen them score anyone with an eleven before. There is a long moment of silence and then suddenly Effie squeals delightedly, all former transgressions forgiven if not forgotten. Everyone is congratulating me, and for some reason Peeta face is almost split in half by an enormous grin. This cuts through my relief. Can't he see that this will be bad for him? Has he got no sense of self-preservation? The boy confuses me.

As soon as I can I escape to my room and the less bewildering world of sleep.

Since I don't have to be anywhere immediately the next morning I take the opportunity to lie in bed for a while, watching the world begin to wake up outside my window. I never sleep in at home, the sound of my mother getting ready for work always wakens me if the sunrise doesn't and there's always hunting to be done or Prim to take care of. Still, I should do it at least once in my life, and this will probably be my last opportunity. I find my thoughts drifting towards home and as dangerous as it is I don't shy away from it. I wonder if Gale will be out hunting, after my father's accident and his father's death the two of us came to rely on each other. His companionship filling the long solitary hours I spent providing for my family. I consider the way our relationship had altered just in the past year, going from hunters and friends to something much… more. I could never put a finger on what it was until his stunning declaration in the Justice Building, but regardless of whether I return his feelings or not 'friends' has seemed too casual a word for us for a while now.

For some reason I can't help comparing Gale to Peeta. Peeta is so confusing and I have no idea where I stand with him. I want to trust him, but I don't know if I can, whereas with Gale the trust is implicit. I am halfway through a thought about the fact I know exactly where I stand with Gale and never question his motives, but stop short. Is that really true any more? I would have sworn blind this time last week that Gale and I didn't love each other. Not in _that_ way at least, but now… Well, now I'd make a liar of myself in doing so.

Effie interrupts my attempts to untangle this confusing dilemma by rapping sharply on the door and informing me that it will be a wonderful day so I had better get up. She's a worse liar than I am.

Breakfast doesn't start well. Haymitch begins by announcing that Peeta wants to be coached separately and despite the fact I have been the one pushing him away and telling him we can't be friends I can't help but feel an enormous, crushing betrayal at this news. It doesn't help either that he is refusing to meet my eye.

And the day only goes downhill from there. I spend four hours being tortured by Effie into talking, sitting, standing, and behaving like a proper Capitol young lady. Young ladies don't walk, they glide. Young ladies don't lift their skirts above the ankle. Young ladies don't speak with their mouth full. Young ladies under no circumstances should trip over in ridiculous heeled shoes and fall flat on their faces. The list is endless.

Haymitch takes a different tack and spends the afternoon insulting me. Apparently I'm sullen, aloof, unappealing, vulnerable and have about as much charm as a dead slug. By the end of our session I might as well add "has no self confidence" to that list as well, because my mentor declares me completely unworkable.

That night I have dinner in my room and allow myself to wallow in my own self-pity and anger. I've lost count of how many plates I've smashed and sheets I've torn by the time the Avox with the red hair slips into my room. I glare up at her with tear-stained cheeks, but my expression immediately crumbles when I see the shock on her face that almost instantly turns to pity. For some reason I can see my father watching me through her eyes and feel immediately ashamed at my destructive outburst.

"Just leave it," I tell her quietly as she moves to clean up my mess. She ignores me, and after watching her shamefacedly for a minute I crouch down and begin to help. "I should have tried to save you," I whisper.

She shakes her head, but I can't be sure if that's in disagreement or whether she just wants me to stop talking.

"No, it was wrong." I repeat. She says nothing more, but by the time we finish clearing up an hour later and I allow her to tuck me into bed like the child I feel, she gives me a small, sad smile. As my eyes slowly close I feel the ghost of her fingers on my cheek and then the click of the door as she leaves the room. In a strange way I feel as though I have been forgiven.


	5. The Best Laid Plans

The Best Laid Plans

_Lamb stew_? Is that really the only answer I can come up with? All the things that differ between the Capitol and District 12 and the only one I can think of is lamb stew? I panicked of course, who wouldn't shoved up on stage in front of the entire country and an audience who would love nothing better than to see me fail? They are laughing now and Caesar Flickerman, resplendent with his blue hair and matching lipstick, is making a joke of it. The trouble is I can't tell whether they're laughing at me or with me.

I take a deep breath, run my fingers across the fabric of my skirt just to give them something to do and then down to the fabric of the sofa. It is velvet, just like the one in the Justice Building but ten times as expensive, and just like that one reminds me of my mother, of home. I visualise them all sitting watching my interview, willing me to do well, being proud of me. My back straightens and suddenly decide I don't care what the audience is doing, it's what _I_ do next that matters so when Caesar asks me about my costume for the opening ceremony I am honest. He then asks me about Cinna's dress I am currently wearing.

"It's simply stunning."

I agree with him. I'm never one for compliments, but this is Cinna's creation and the focus is on it, not me, and if anyone is deserving of praise then it is my stylist. I catch his eye and he signals that I should twirl. I have absolutely no idea what will happen, but he told me to do it earlier and, bizarrely, I trust him.

I spin and the audience goes wild. Through the swirling mass of colours around me I can make out the brilliant crackle of flames fanning out around my legs. Each gem that Cinna had carefully sewn into the skirt catches the light causing the colours to dance and shimmer. It is the high point of the interview; after that Caesar asks me about more personal things: my volunteering for Prim, how much I love her, which in turn leads to questions about my life in District 12.

"I understand your father had a debilitating accident some years ago…"

"Yes." I hate talking about that time with friends; I really don't want to discuss it now.

"That must have been have been hard for you."

"Yes…" I hesitate again. I can almost hear Haymitch's voice prompting me to say more. To exude more charm than a dead slug. "It was… a horrible experience, but there were other families who weren't nearly so lucky as us. We survived."

"Yes, and I'm sure those skills will come in handy in the arena."

We've run out of time and Caesar is rounding up the interview. I'm leaving the stage and Peeta walks on. I think he tries to catch my eye, but I stare resolutely ahead until I'm back in my seat.

The boy with the bread is a natural, laughing and joking with Caesar, getting the audience on side. The only time the easy going smile leaves his face is when Caesar asks if there is a special girl back home, which Peeta denies. Caesar won't let the issue go so easily and when he presses it I find myself listening curiously. I know there are plenty of girls at school who gossip about him, I've rolled my eyes at their swooning often enough, and even Madge has been heard to express the opinion that he's handsome, but I've never actually seen him _with_ a girl.

"Well," he hesitates, "there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

Caesar asks if she's already taken and when Peeta says no, but that a lot of boys like her, I find myself running a mental inventory of anyone I think it could possibly be. Madge was quite pretty, though like me she kept to herself quite a lot, there was Meena Waters, by far the most popular girl in school, she could be a candidate. There was also Delly Cartwright, I know she and Peeta were good friends, but ruled her out because Peeta had said it was someone who didn't notice him. Besides, since the age of six, Delly had told anyone who would listen that they were siblings.

"I don't think it's going to work out," Peeta is saying. "Winning… won't help in my case."

Now I'm really confused, as are Caesar and half the audience.

"Why ever not?"

"Because… because…"

Oh for goodness sake, I wish he would just spit it out already!

"- she came here with me."

Oh.

My brain seems to have jammed. I don't hear the rest of the interview and I'm only vaguely aware of Peeta coming to sit down next to me, of us all standing as the anthem booms, filing towards the elevators. Somehow, Peeta and I manage to get stuck in the same one. Everyone else is staring at us.

I focus on the hem of my dress, the flickering gems, and try to stop the blush threatening to rise up in my cheeks. How could he do that? Admit that he's had a crush on me for years which he just failed to mention? No, not admit, announce, he just announced it to the world on national television, and made me look like a prize idiot in the process.

I can hear whispering. I think it's the tributes from District 2, Cato and Clove. I sneak a glance at them and see they are watching me, spiteful grins spread across their calculating faces. Fantastic. Why didn't Peeta just paint a giant red cross onto my forehead? It would have been less embarrassing and it's what he's essentially just gone and done anyway. I'll have half the arena gunning for me specifically now. My mind flashes away from the arena. Everyone at home will have seen that too, Prim and my parents and… Gale. It suddenly dawns on me that Gale will have seen every word of that; Gale who only a few days ago declared his own love for me.

My stomach seems to tip and twist uncomfortably as we continue to shoot upwards, dropping off tributes as we go. Finally only Peeta and I are left, but still I refuse to look at him. I can feel my anger building up, anger and not a little fear. It settles into my veins and seems to freeze them solid so that it takes all the effort I can muster to make my feet move, carrying me out of the elevator when we reach the twelfth floor.

Haymitch and Effie are rushing towards us, but I eventually round on Peeta. He is watching me warily, trying to gauge my reaction, as though I might explode any second. Which to be honest feels like a distinct possibility.

"What," I ask in icy tones, "was that all about?" My voice is low and deadly, cutting through any congratulations our mentors had been about to offer.

"Now, listen sweetheart," Haymitch begins.

"Don't you sweetheart me!" I hiss. "You knew he was going to do this, didn't you? Of course you did, I'll bet the two of you planned it out. _Let's make Katniss look weak in front of everyone_. Well I guess you've saved yourself the bother of having to choose between us in the arena. I'll be lucky if I survive the first five minutes now."

"Katniss, that wasn't what I meant -"

"Anyone is lucky to survive the bloodbath at the Cornucopia," Haymitch snarls, getting properly angry now. "Having a plan to survive afterwards is the important thing and a big part of that revolves around having sponsors. I don't care how well you can shoot, you're dead if you can't get those. That boy just ensured you looked desirable, something you sure as hell wouldn't have managed on your own!"

I'll admit it, as angry as I am, that stung a little.

Haymitch hasn't finished yet. "I know you're trying your best to behave like one, but you're not an idiot. Think about it. I can sell this star-crossed lovers angle far better than anything you gave me to work with during your interview!"

"Fine!" I throw my hands up, I might be calming down a little inwardly, but there's no need to let Haymitch see that. "You say you thought you were doing what was best, but I still don't see why I wasn't told. He had no right to go out there, spouting that rubbish about me, without my knowledge!"

He gives me some rubbish about making my reaction look more genuine. I'm still breathing heavily through my nose, trying to resist the impulse to lash out at something, at someone.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," Peeta cuts in, a strained note to his voice.

My eyes flash to his face. Searching. Is it possible he knew what Gale said to me the last time I saw him? How? There's no way he could know. He wouldn't be the first to assume there is more to Gale's and my relationship than there really is, or I certainly thought there was.

Our gazes' lock for a full minute; I can feel my cheeks burning, more out of embarrassment than anger now. Not for the first time I question Peeta's agenda. He appears to be my friend one minute then does something like this to me the next. What am I supposed to think?

"I'm going to my room." I force the words out through gritted teeth before pushing past them and rushing off down the corridor, trying to look indignant rather than rushed and clumsy in this trailing dress. I think I just about pull it off.

I stay in my room for hours, miss dinner and the watching of the recaps, glower at the walls and just generally sulk for the rest of the evening. I don't even bother changing out of my dress until I start to realise that I'm cold so I pull on a pair of red satin pyjamas and the cosiest, fluffiest robe I've ever seen. It's only then, as I'm staring out of the window that I realise I've possibly missed my last chance to ever see Effie or Haymitch. I might be angry and as my father says stubborn as a mule most days, but I still want to say goodbye if I can.

Creeping from my room I go in search of them. Haymitch is probably the easiest to start with; I can normally find him propping up the bar. To my surprise however, the main area of our level is empty. A half empty bottle resting on the table bears testament to my mentor's recent presence, but of the man himself there is no sign. It's not until I've checked every sofa and even under the table, because I wouldn't put it past him to fall asleep there, that I notice a side door rests slightly ajar. Behind it, a set of stairs I have never seen before.

I'm probably not meant to go up there, but when has that ever stopped me? Cautiously I tiptoe upwards until I'm in a huge glass dome. I can see the stars above me and to one side an elaborate garden, full of flowers and trees gently swaying in the breeze. Opposite this I notice Peeta leaning up against a railing, gazing out across the Capitol. I hesitate. Should I go and speak to him? He might know where Haymitch and Effie are, and it will probably be my last chance to speak to him properly before the Games begin and after that… well the next time I see him we'll probably be trying to kill each other. He looks like he's deep in thought though and I don't want to disturb him. Besides, I remind myself firmly, I'm still furious at him for that stunt he pulled at the interviews.

I linger too long, he turns round and glances in my direction. A nervous smile. A hand raised in greeting. I'm going to have to go out and speak to him now.

My feet carry me through the glass door and a chill wind hits my exposed skin; I wish I'd thought to wear shoes. Walking up beside him I look out over the city, avoiding his gaze which I know is still focused on my face.

"I was looking for Haymitch."

"He's not here," Peeta responds. There is a guarded look in his eyes. "I think he might be passed out in the bathroom."

I nod, that sounds plausible. Unable to hold Peeta's gaze mine slips to the view of the city. For all that I hate the Capitol, I must admit there is a captivating beauty to it. Especially at night when it's easy to forget the cold metal and crazy people; it becomes a twinkling sea of light, like stars in an inky sky or a swarm of fireflies in the forest. I rest my elbows against the railing.

It's a while before either of us speaks; initially I think he won't, but for some strange reason that doesn't bother me. It's not the same as the easy, companionable silences Gale and I used to share, but it's not bad, or awkward, it's just… different. Eventually one of us has to break it though, and it's Peeta.

"I really was just trying to help you know, not make you look weak or anything."

"I know." I don't want to admit it, but somehow I believe him. Despite my best intentions and resolutions I find I trust Peeta Mellark all too readily. I have a soft spot for good, kind people that I'm sure will be my undoing. I think I associate them with my father and Prim.

"You could have told me before hand though. I know, I know," I add as he is about to speak. "I know, you wanted my reaction to look genuine, but still… you could have told me."

I can't be sure in the gloom, but I think I see a darker hue stain Peeta's cheeks. "I would have, but I was… embarrassed… scared I suppose… whatever you want to call it. Haymitch thought it was for the best and I didn't think you'd believe me, or worse, that you'd just laugh at me."

And that is it. Peeta has pretty much just admitted that he was telling the truth in that interview. I'm pretty sure I should have some sort of reaction to that, be flattered or pleased, embarrassed or apologetic. I search my thoughts, but the only thing I can find is a sort of bemused numbness. I've experienced too much in the last few days, I'm too terrified at the prospect of what is still to come to react just now. Besides the idea of Peeta, or anyone for that matter, being in love with me is just so bizarre that it's impossible to compute. It's difficult enough to work out things with Gale, who I know like the back of my hand and could be reasonably expected to love in return, but Peeta, who I've essentially only known for a few days, is another matter entirely.

"You're angry." He misinterprets my silence.

"No…" My voice trails off and I return to staring out at the lights. "No, I'm just… tired."

"Well, I doubt the next couple of weeks are going to be any more restful." I can just make out his sardonic grin in the dark.

"You never know," I reply, "it could all be over this time tomorrow."

Suddenly he is serious again, turning to face me. His hands flex as though they're about to grab mine, but he restrains himself at the last second. "Don't say that. Don't. You'll survive. I know you will. You're strong."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I don't.

"Besides," he continues into the silence, "you promised Prim that you would."

My thoughts skip back to my little sister, to my family and what they will have to go through watching me in the arena. The suffering and heartache it will put them through watching me in danger, kill or be killed. Would my father still be so proud of me then? "I wish they didn't have to watch," I tell him.

"I know. I've been standing here trying to think of a way to go into that arena and still… still be me. I don't want them to change me and turn me into some sort of monster that I'm not. Does that make sense?"

It makes sense in that I know what he means, but it not the sort of mentality to go into the arena with. You're dead for sure then. "Wouldn't you kill anyone?"

"Yes. Yes I'm sure I would if I had to; I'm not going down without a fight. I just want to show that… that they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their games."

I want to tell him that that's exactly what he is, what we all are, but I resist. I bite my tongue. Instead I say: "Well, I hope you come up with something."

"I think I have." He looks back out over the lights, their shimmering brightness illuminating his profile, his forehead creased into a frown. "I'm working on it anyway."

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then. I'll go find Haymitch and say goodbye."

"Alright, good luck then, for tomorrow." He looks so sad now that for some reason I'm seized with the crazy, uncharacteristic impulse to give him a hug. I hold back though, it would just complicate things even more. From tomorrow morning Peeta Mellark will be my enemy just as much as Cato, the Careers and all the other tributes. Instead I reach out a hand for him to shake.

"Good luck to you too, Mellark."

As the tingling heat of his palm leaves mine I turn to walk away. I haven't gone more than a few steps though before he calls after me.

"And Katniss?"

I glance back quizzically to see those blue eyes staring at me through the dark their expression sombre and filled with an emotion that terrifies me more than the prospect of walking into the arena tomorrow.

"I… just remember, in the arena, whatever happens, I'd never hurt you."

A/N: So there we are, another chapter over, in which Peeta schemes in a way only Peeta can and Katniss goes all soppy. Hope you enjoyed it! I'm sorry it's taken two weeks to upload this, but my internet broke and I've only just gotten it back up and running. More will come soon in compensation I promise!


	6. Out of the Frying Pan

Out of the Frying Pan

_Sixty_. The timer on the Cornucopia is counting down. Clicking through the seconds until the bloodbath begins. I scan the pine trees around me, so reassuringly familiar, the wide field, the lake beyond, trying to work out the best path to take, which way to run once my time is up. Because Haymitch was very clear on that. Don't stay. Don't fight. Just get the hell out of there as fast as you can.

_Forty_. My eyes light on Peeta, five tributes along, and I remember our strange parting of the night before. My bewildered goodnight, disappearing from the roof without another word. Would he really not hurt me if it came down to it? What if, unlikely I know, only the two of us are left? I think about his assertion that he won't survive, his declaration of love. Surely he wouldn't sacrifice himself for me? That would be ridiculous.

_Twenty_. I run a thumb over the Mockingjay pin Cinna attached to my outfit to give me courage. I hope it works, he said he'd bet on me after all. Suddenly the memories and faces I'd been trying to block out all morning begin to rush through my mind. _Fifteen_. My friends from the Hob; days spent hunting in dappled sunlight. _Ten_. Haymitch, last night. So drunk when I found him that he actually gave me a teary hug. Or pretending to be, I still can't tell. _Five_. Hazelle and the Hawthorne kids, little Posy playing on the doorstep with a wooden doll I made her once. _Four_. Gale, his slow smile and quiet laughter, the anguish in his tone as he said he loved me. _Three_. My mother, trodden on by life in the Seam, yet still radiant when she is in my father's company. _Two_. Sweet Prim, my little duck, who I would and am facing death for. I don't regret volunteering for a second. _One_. My father. I only have time to feel an overwhelming surge of love for the battered, weathered face in my mind's eye before the gong sounds and I'm off and running.

The scattered offerings around the Cornucopia are meant to tempt us in, but I ignore them. Instead I zigzag as fast as I can towards the waiting tree line, sparing the occasional glance over my shoulder to make sure I'm not being pursued. At one point I think the girl from 2 is going to follow. She certainly looks as though she's starting in my direction, but someone intercepts her, someone else meets a bloody death at the tip of those lethal knives.

Fear lends me speed and in no time at all I'm under cover. I know I should keep going, get as far away from here as I possibly can, but some traitorous part of me says I should make sure Peeta is alright. And like the idiot I am, I listen to it. I don't know why, but I need to make sure he is still alive, that he hasn't been bludgeoned to death by some blood-crazed Career. I'm not a complete fool though. Someone could have seen where I entered the woods so I skirt round the edge, finding the densest part of the trees and wriggle under a convenient bush so that I can see without being seen.

I almost wish I hadn't.

A few tributes are still battling it out. Cato and the one of the Careers from District 4, two girls. I'm not entirely sure, but I think they're from Districts 1 and 7; they are rolling around so quickly that I can't quite make them out. Other than that the first thing my eyes register is death. Lot's of death. It is one thing to see the Games on the screens back home, to go into them knowing that people will die and that I will have to kill some of them. It is quite another to see the evidence of this massacre with my own eyes.

The ground around the Cornucopia is soaked with blood. The grass runs red with it. Bodies litter the area, scattered most thickly around the mouth of the horn; lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. I try to push past my rising bile, the instinct within me screaming that I should flee so much death, and try to count them. _Six, seven, eight, nine_. Nine already dead and we've barely been in the arena for five minutes. Fear clutches at my chest as I see one tribute, one corpse, with blonde hair. One side of the golden head is smeared with blood which is pouring from what remains of his skull.

Peeta!

But no, it can't be. It's not him. Peeta's taller than that, his frame stockier. That must be the boy from six. Heart in my mouth I scan the scene again; I can't afford to stay here much longer. Already Cato has dispatched the boy from 4 and is laughing as he watches the girl from District 1 toying with her opponent. Perhaps Peeta has escaped into the forest?

And that's when I see him.

Over by one of the crates piled up in the Cornucopia. Sitting there, calm as you like, staring into the middle distance and only yards away from the rest of the Careers. There is only one explanation for that: he's gone and made an alliance with them. Hurt, indignation, anger and betrayal immediately surge up within me, bringing tears smarting to my eyes. I had considered almost every possibility for the way these games could play out, but I had never seen this coming. How could he do this to me? After everything he had said, everything he had professed to feel, and he's joined up with the biggest threat in the arena.

Blinded by fury and, I'll admit, some tears, I shove myself backwards from my hiding spot and sprint off into the woods. I have no idea where I'm going I just know that I need to get away from the bloodbath, away from the Careers and away from Peeta's betrayal as quickly as I can. Where before fear fuelled my legs, now it is anger. Anger and hurt.

Nearly two hours must have passed by the time I have calmed down enough to remember Haymitch's second piece of advice. Find water.

Right. Ok. Water. Easier said than done. So far the only water I have come across was the lake down by the Cornucopia and there is no way I'm going back there. Not with the Careers. The death. And Peeta. I push thoughts of him to the back of my mind. I have more important concerns to deal with now. Like not dying of dehydration.

I have no idea how big the arena is. Some years they can be vast whereas others they are only a dozen hectares or so. Short of trekking to the edge and then walking all around it I will have no way of knowing. I try to consider the landscape around me. The ground is on a slight slope going down to my left; it would make sense that any water would have trickled down in that direction. That is if there is any logic to the design of the arena, which isn't always the case. I don't have anything else to go on however so I begin to make my way down the hill. I keep on the alert. My eyes scanning the surroundings for any hint of water, shelter, opportunities to catch game. It's not long before the ground beneath my feet begins to get muddy, a sure sign that water is close and within no time at all I'm stumbling into a bubbling stream, greedily scooping up water. The feel of the cool liquid trickling down my throat, spilling over my chin, is unbelievably refreshing. I allow myself to relax a little. I've survived, I've found water, now if I can just keep my head down for a while I might survive as the rest of the tributes begin to pick each other off. It's a slim hope, but one I have to cling to.

The sound of a cannon booming out across the arena shatters my peace. I hadn't given it a thought before, but it indicates that only now has the fighting at the Cornucopia ceased. All this time I've been trekking the battle has continued. Was it just the fight between the girl's from 1 and 7? All this time? Or have there been other fights? More deaths? I listen intently as each cannon disturbs the silence, startling some birds from a nearby bush. Some tiny, detached part of my mind tells me I should catch them. That I'm going to need to eat soon. I ignore it. I'm too busy counting. _Eight. Nine. Ten._ Well that's no surprise; there were ten bodies by the time I left the Cornucopia. _Eleven_. I wait, but there are no more. Eleven tributes gone. That's nearly half of us. I wonder who the last unfortunate soul was. The girl from 1? Unlikely, she's a Career and they nearly always make it through the first few days, besides, she looked as though she had the upper hand. District 7 then? Probably, but she might have escaped somehow; it could be someone else.

Unbidden, my mind draws back to Peeta and I feel the same raw stab of hurt and anger at his betrayal, as though I'm only just realising it afresh. Despite everything some part of me had still clung stubbornly to the notion that we were friends. That we shared a bond. That the day he had saved my life, as I lay there broken in the rain and the mud, had connected us in a way that the games couldn't break. Apparently not.

Glancing down at my hands I see that I've torn a leaf to pieces in my distraction. Angrily I throw it away. I can't waste valuable time, something I may not have very much more of, fretting about Peeta Mellark. He is no longer of any consequence to me.

I gulp another handful of water and then push myself up. Since I have no other plan of action at the moment, my best bet is to follow the stream. I have no way of carrying it with me and I'll need it as a supply of fresh water. It will also lead me away from the Cornucopia if I follow it upstream.

I walk for the rest of the afternoon, resisting the urge to thrash angrily through the woods venting my frustrations on the nearby fauna. By the time I stop for the night darkness is falling and I have to content myself with a meal of berries and roots. It's not much, but I've suffered worse. With the gnawing hunger in my stomach addressed the next issue is shelter, sleep, safety. Ideally I'd like to climb one of these trees, I doubt any of the Careers can climb as well as I can and even if they could they might miss me all the way up there. People very rarely look up I've discovered. Besides, they might not be the only things hunting me out here.

The problem is, if I'm high enough up a tree to be safe from attack, I'm also high enough for it to hurt if I fall out. A lot. Weighing up the risks I decide that I'd rather risk broken bones than being on the wrong end of a Career's blade and scan the ground for shelter. A hollow tree would be ideal; a cave would be spectacular, but then when have the Gamesmakers ever made things easy? The best I can find is a slight depression beneath a log where I can pull the carpet of pine needles across me and be hidden from view.

The night isn't a comfortable one; I'm constantly on the alert, and can only fall into a half-sleep, freezing as the temperature drops and after all the food I've eaten this week my stomach begins rumbling painfully, protesting its meagre filling. Despite all this the worst point of the night is when the anthem begins to play and the sky fills with the faces of the dead tributes. Even though I am already fairly certain Peeta's face will not be amongst them I can feel my heart clenching as we approach the final few faces. The relief that fills me when the Capitol seal reappears and he is not amongst them raises my ire. How can I even care? Why should I? He has abandoned me, despite all his protestations of love, or of wanting to be my friend. He's just like everyone else, the minute we got into the arena all bets were off and it was every man for himself.

The very last thing Peeta said to me keeps spinning around inside my confused mind. _Whatever happens, I'd never hurt you._ Was that a lie too? Or was it his way of asking me to forgive him for what he had planned to do: team up with the Careers? Either way it is something I can't forgive, no one from District 12 would ever dream of doing such a thing, and the only reason I can think of for his actions is that Peeta is so desperate to win, despite every utterance I've heard from his mouth, that he's thrown aside every loyalty, every moral rule in the book. So much for not wanting the Games to change him. For some reason this makes me sadder than ever.

I'm just beginning to fall into an uneasy doze when the sound of the cannon startles me awake again. I tense as I listen for any other sounds nearby. Nothing. It can't have been close. Resettling myself amongst the leaves and pine needles I ponder this latest loss. Another tribute down. Strangely though, and to my own shame, the first emotion that overcomes me is not grief, it is relief. One more person that I don't have to kill and isn't trying to kill me. Twelve of us left.

A sudden rustling captures my attention and suddenly I'm stiller than I've ever been in my life. My breathing becomes so shallow that I'll probably start passing out soon and I pray that whoever it is can't hear my heart, because it's thundering traitorously against my ribs. There it is again, the soft crackling of leaves, but it's not the sound of foliage underfoot, it's scurrying, the sound of animals hurrying through the darkened forest. Apparently I wasn't the only thing woken by the cannon.

In the dim imitation starlight cast around the arena I can just make an animal about the size of a small rabbit making its way through the roots of a nearby tree. I allow my breathing to relax a little, though I'm still cautious. The rodent is not one I recognise, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Panem is an enormous place and the world is even larger, any number of things could live in it.

The creature turns out to be curious and before long it has burrowed its way into my hiding place. For a moment I have the bizarre experience of having a staring contest with the nameless rodent; I gaze at it and bright, intelligent eyes gaze back. Then it promptly sinks its teeth into my arm.

It takes all my years of hunting in the forest, all my survival skills, not to let out a loud yelp. It wasn't so much that it was incredibly painful, the creature only gave me a nip, it just took me by surprise. It's only then that I see its teeth, sharper and more needle-like, more numerous, than any natural creature has a right to. It's only then that I find a name for my nocturnal visitor.

Mutt. A Capitol muttation. An aberration born to wreak havoc and pain during the war. But what is this one's purpose?

It doesn't take me long to find out, within minutes of the bite the whole area of my arm becomes swollen and itchy. I try not to scratch, but it's driving me mad and I resort to licking it like a wounded animal instead. The mutt wasn't alone either and I spend the rest of the night trying to fend off its friends with limited success. By morning my skin feels like it's on fire and I look like I've been thrown into a nest of mosquitoes; giant, furry, mosquitoes. Still, I am alive. Although right now I think my skin wishes I wasn't.

I try diving into the stream, but the cool water is only a temporary fix and the minute I leave it only starts to itch again. As maddening as it is to leave the water I can't stay where I am all day. Someone is bound to catch up to me. I have to move.

So I do, twitching and wriggling inside my clothes to try and alleviate the itch, I begin to make my way again. I have no fixed idea of where I'm going and the bites have robbed me of my concentration so for lack of a better plan I keep following the stream. It is entirely by accident that I spot a bush covered in leaves that I recognise. I'd been shuffling along, driven almost to distraction and practically tripped over the thing. Rubbing my stubbed toe I examine it more closely. If I'm not mistaken my mother uses these to calm the skin of her patients if they've been stung by a plant. Perhaps it might work on the mutt bites too? At this stage I'm willing to try anything.

Ripping out a handful I quickly chew some of the leaves up, creating a sticky green pulp which I slather across my arm. Almost immediately there is relief, not completely, I can still feel my skin prickle beneath the mush, but it is enough to restore my sanity at least. I'm sure I now look like an enormous rotting raspberry, still I can live with that and I tell myself it makes good camouflage.

With my bites seen to my main irritation now has become the fact that my clothes are damp and chaffing. In my haste to enter the water earlier I hadn't even bothered stripping them off and now as I trek through the forest they cling awkwardly and leave a dripping trail in my wake. Thankfully they do seem to be beginning to dry; they're less soggy at least. And it is a warm day, stiflingly warm actually, so warm that the air almost smells of burning.

I stop and take a moment to concentrate fully, breathing deeply and tasting the air around me. No. I wasn't imagining it. There is definitely a smoky quality there, and ash, lots of it. Somewhere in the arena there has been a fire, a big one by the smell of it. I shudder. After cave-ins, and starvation, fire is one of the biggest killers in District 12. My mother had to deal with burns all the time, some small, some not so small. Fire is one of my greatest fears; I pity whoever was caught up in this one.

I turn my shoulder to the breeze and keep moving.

A/N: Another chapter there for you. Hope everyone enjoys and thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, I love hearing what you have to say!


	7. Up and Down

Up and Down

The day is relatively quiet for me. Whatever happened with the fire must have given the Gamesmakers enough gruesome viewing to keep them satisfied and leave the rest of us alone. For now at least. It won't be long before they get bored again. After a good many hours my bites, which had rather worryingly begun to resemble enormous pus filled balls, seem to have dissipated. Well, that's the less disgusting way of putting it. What actually happened was that by about supper time they began vomiting out their cargo of yellowish muck until there was no more and now both the redness and the swelling are starting to subside. I had to stop early and wash it off. There was no way I could have walked around like that for a second longer, it was making me nauseous.

I can't help but begin to wonder at the length of time they have left me alone though. Even with a potential shed-load of fiery deaths this morning, and the fact I'd have made any Capitol viewer throw up their lunch until about an hour ago, it is unusual for the Gamesmakers to leave any one tribute unmolested for so long and I have a horrible sinking notion that I know why. Either I'm headed straight for some sort of pit filled with vipers and enormous hairy spiders, or, more likely, there are other tributes near by.

I decide to sleep in a tree tonight. I don't care whether I fall out.

It's not long before the sounds of footsteps begin to draw near. Lots of footsteps. And voices.

"Hey! I think she went this way." Cato.

"Alright." I think that's Clove. "Lover Boy, hurry up, you're slowing us down." I can only assume they are speaking to Peeta and feel another hot rush of betrayal and anger at his alliance with them.

I don't have to wait more than a minute before they come crashing into view. They don't have to bother being quiet like the rest of us. I doubt there's much in this forest that wouldn't run from the whole pack of them.

They all seem to be a little the worse for wear. Cato's jacket is torn and he has a couple of scratches along his cheek; they don't look too bad though and I doubt they're giving him much trouble. The girls all appear to have singed hair and Glimmer seems to be holding her bow awkwardly. Her bow. I feel another stab of emotion, this time envy, as I take in the beautiful weapon. I saw her try to shoot during training and although she's not terrible the girl from District 1 certainly isn't as good as me. How I wish I had managed to get a hold of it, I would soon be able to get myself out of this predicament. My eyes flicker over the rest of the group. Marvel seems to be limping, but it's Peeta that's gotten the worst of it. From what I can see through his ripped trousers he's acquired a nasty burn on his leg and another running along his cheekbone; in the fading light it is scarlet and shiny. Our gazes meet for the briefest of seconds before my eyes skitter away again, but not before I see that his is guarded and full of pain, but also something else, as though it's trying to tell me something. I don't bother to analyse what. I have bigger problems. Glimmer is stringing her bow.

"Hey Girly! Want to come down out of that tree?" Cato yells up at me.

"Not really," I yell back. From somewhere I manage to conjure up my best and brightest grin. I could give Caesar Flickerman a run for his money any day. "The view's nice here, besides it looks like things might have been a little hot down where you are."

There is a growl from Clove followed by a sharp hiss as Glimmer lets her arrow fly.

_Thwack_.

It sinks into the bark about three feet away from my head. "Well that wasn't very nice." I yell down, still smiling sweetly. "You should be careful where you point that thing, you could really hurt someone." This earns me another arrow which bounces off the tree somewhere below my feet.

"That's enough," Cato barks, "I'll get her." As he hoists himself into the branches, sword clenched between his teeth I begin to climb higher. I'm faster, lighter, and much better at this than the Career and it doesn't take me long to be way out of his reach. Somewhere bellow me I can hear the sharp snap of a branch and Cato's strangled yell as he plummets towards the ground. Clove has a try after that and although she gets higher I'm still way out of reach.

"Just leave her." I hear Peeta say. "She'll have to come down eventually. We can get her then."

I continue to smile as the others mutter under their breath, but inside I can feel panic threatening. He's right, and I hate him even more for it. How am I going to get out of this one?

It starts to get darker and the Careers light a fire, occasionally yelling the odd threat in my direction, but mostly leaving me alone. I pretend to sleep, but I don't. Even if I wanted to I couldn't settle with the Career pack so close by. One eye remains cracked open the whole night watching them through my eyelashes, the other is continually scanning my surroundings for anything I can use as a weapon. I've got one of Glimmer's arrows, if I could just fashion some sort of bow or sling I might be able to take one of them out while they're asleep, but there's nothing useful and I'd need a blade to make it work anyway. I could sneak down and steal one of Clove's, she has more than enough for one person, but I doubt I'd come out of that particular encounter alive. At the very least I'd be missing an ear, or a tongue. I can't see a way out and I'm just beginning to give up hope when I hear a rustle in the trees. It's slight, anyone that wasn't paying attention to the every movement of the forest would have missed it, but I am, so I don't.

I squint and can just make out a pair of wide, dark eyes glittering at me through the night. Rue. How long has she been sitting in that tree for? Since before the Careers turned up anyway. Was she following me before that? Probably.

I glance back down in concern. None of them seem to have noticed her.

When I do look back up, she seems to be pointing at something above my head. My nose crinkles and my eyes sting as I crane to look. The smoke from the Careers' fire is starting to itch at my tender skin as it wafts up and over me. It takes a lot of blinking and rubbing at my eyes, but eventually I can make out what Rue is pointing at, or at least I think I can anyway.

My heart gives a little leap of excitement which I try to suppress, but I can't deny the evidence of my own eyes. There, about eight feet above my head to the left, is a gnarled and knotted branch. It is sturdier looking than the others around it, thick and twisted, and more importantly it seems to have caught hold of a branch from the neighbouring tree. If I could just get up and across without either branch breaking, or slipping to my death, or the Careers noticing, I might have a way out. I'd still probably be stuck in the other tree, but at least I wouldn't be where they'd expect and I might be able to make a run for it if they were distracted.

I wait. It takes a long time before the Careers finally go to sleep, most of them sit round the campfire for hours, talking, laughing, occasionally taunting me. Peeta says nothing and I'm not sure whether I prefer that or not. It allows me to forget momentarily that he is down there too, hunting me, but at the same time I have no idea what he's thinking. Not that I ever really did.

Finally though I can hear one of them begin to snore, then another; no one has said anything for a long time and their breathing settles into the dull rhythm of sleep. If they left anyone on watch they aren't doing their job very well. I don't waste another second. Hauling myself upright I ignore my protesting muscles and tender skin as I pull myself up to the branch. When I reach the one I'll need to cross I pause for a moment, checking that none of my hunters have woken up. I can still see Rue's eyes watching me through the darkness. It's now or never.

Drawing a deep breath I drag myself onto it ignoring the scratches I pick up along the way. I wriggle up and make the careful transition from one tree to the next before practically slithering down the other branch to the safety of the trunk. My heart is hammering so quickly it is entirely possible that it might burst and each breath comes with a rasping gasp. I bet the audience in the Capitol are loving this. The confusion surrounding Peeta and I, his betrayal, my escape attempt; it's better drama than they could have hoped for. To be honest I don't really care at this point; I've got bigger issues to concentrate on.

From this vantage point my route to freedom is clearer. Another wide branch angles out across a thicket which sprawls out into the darkness. If I can just get into it unseen then I might be able to lose them. It's too dense for the likes of Cato and Peeta to crawl through, but I should manage. I'll still have to be quieter than the grave I hope to avoid, but it's my only shot.

Crawling along I'm preparing to drop what must be more than two stories when some distant dog or wolf or mutt, something with incredibly bad timing anyway, lets off the loudest, most spine chilling howl I've ever heard. It's enough.

"What was that?" A Career jerks bolt upright, eyes scanning the tree line, the urgency in her voice waking the others.

I dither, stomach somewhere in the region of my throat. Can I chance it before they're all fully awake, could I make it to safety, outrun them? Or should I stay and hope they don't notice? I can feel the beads of sweat breaking out along my brow.

"Go back to sleep." Yes. Please do.

"I could have sworn that was – wait a minute!" My heart stops as I hear Clove's voice. "Where's Twelve?"

I have no other choice now. I throw myself from the tree and the air whistles past me as I fall, landing with an awkward crash in my haste. I can feel the muscles in my ankle scream, but I don't have time to pay attention. As I dive towards the bushes I can hear the Careers begin to rage behind me.

The only way out is for me to crawl under the prickly bushes; I can feel my clothes tearing, sometimes taking a piece of flesh with it, but adrenalin pushes me onwards.

"Get after her!" I can hear Cato bellowing in frustration. There is a thrashing sound and the sharp snapping of twigs as he tries to force his way through the thicket. Apparently without success. "Come on, go, you're smaller than I am! What are you waiting for?"

I can hear people running and assume they are trying to find a way around. Fear lends me a burst of speed and I scuttle forwards again, screwing up my eyes against the scratching twigs that whip at my face. Twisting, dragging, and scraping my way along I begin to make progress. Over the steady thump of my elbows against the tightly packed earth I can hear the panting of the girls behind me, their cursing as they tangle up in the thorns, but I am quicker.

All of a sudden there is empty air in front of me. Without pausing to see if Cato or the others have found their way round yet I thrust myself to my feet and run, ignoring the sharp bursts of pain which alight my ankle as I do so. I push on quickly, bolting off into the darkness, not waiting to see who follows or where I am going. My only concern is to get away. Trees whip past and my feet manage to find every hollow, skipping over every root as though I had memorised the path. Even over the erratic thudding of my heart I can hear them though.

Glimmer's victorious shriek as she clears the thicket. Clove's shout to the others and Cato's response. Far too close for comfort. I speed on.

There is a rush of air behind me and realise what is about to happen a split second before it does. Pain explodes in my shoulder as one of Glimmer's arrows embeds itself there. The blood is pounding in my ears, my head feels as though it about to explode and every breath is stifled by the pressure in my chest. I stumble.

"I've got her!" There is a triumphant crow behind me. Dread clutches at my heart and I force myself to my feet, stumbling onwards. Fleetingly I wonder what has happened to Rue, but the thought skitters from the corners of my mind almost as quickly as it arrives. I have to keep moving.

The world is spinning now, lurching awkwardly as a try to force myself onwards, biting at my cheek to keep from crying out as the arrow tears at my muscles. I can hear the thud of footsteps behind me now, several pairs and I know I'm done for.

"Quick, catch her!"

"We've got you now – hey, what are you doing!" There is a sudden crash behind me, a clash of metal, and although it goes against everything I've ever been taught and every instinct I've ever possessed I risk a glance back. What I see fills my already fogged mind with confusion. Peeta and Clove are rolling on the grass. At first I think they must have tripped, but then I see the flash of a knife, the cold steel of a short sword. I hesitate. I don't understand. Glimmer is still gunning for me though, she fires another arrow at my head, her last from the looks of things, and misses. I stop just long enough to see her throw it aside and sprint after me before spinning and running as fast as I can, using up every ounce of strength I have left. As I encourage my feet to move I can hear the yells of Peeta and Clove's fight, the pain in his voice as he suddenly cries out, but I can't stop. I don't even know where I'm going any more. The forest has become a blur and I'm increasingly lightheaded.

I reach a steep slope, concealed by bushes and darkness, only visible right at the last second. Thankfully I have just enough sense left in me to veer to the side coasting to a stop rather than pitching headlong over the edge. Glimmer doesn't have such foresight. As I freeze, trapped like the animal I am, she comes snarling into view, her beautiful face ravaged by hatred and blood-lust. Heedless to the danger she dives straight for me and I am too sluggish, too slow and too stupid to react in time.

I feel her shoulder connect solidly with my waist, knocking any remaining air from my lungs. We are both pitched backwards into empty space and I can feel her arms lock around me in astonishment as she suddenly realises what she has done. There is a moment, one that feels suspended in time, in which we hang amidst the nothingness. It is as though I can see the scene from a great distance, the smoky greenery of the tree line, the steep, rocky slope stretched out below us, two girls, one with flowing golden hair the other with a tight, brown braid run wild locked in a deadly game. I can almost see the puzzlement on my face as I struggle to keep up with events, the fear in Glimmer's eyes. Then the world catches up with us and we are falling.

A scream rips from my lips as we hit the ground hard and the arrow snaps beneath me. Glimmer is torn away from me, dragged by the rocks as we are pounded down the hill. My vision turns grey. It is all I can do to curl up in a ball with my arms around my head. Over and over. Sliding and rolling. Careering headlong down a hill that seems to claw and rip at me as though fighting for every inch. Ragged gasps are pulled from my lungs, but my ears don't hear. I can't see. I can't even think. There is just pain and the rushing of the ground beneath me.

Then suddenly it stops. I am flipped onto my back one final time, there is no more air to be driven from my lungs and there are so many places I hurt I don't even feel the final few inches of the arrow being driven into my shoulder. I just lie there, insensible to everything as the world slips in and out of focus.

At one point some dim, flickering thought makes me turn my head to the side. I can make out a splash of blonde hair a little way off and blink several times to try and clear my vision. She isn't moving, her head is turned at an unnatural angle and blood is smeared across her face; some instinct within me knows that she is dead.

In that same moment I know I am about to die. Surprisingly I find that I don't care too much about it. I don't know where I am anymore or what has happened to Rue or Peeta. My tired mind tries to conjure up an image of home, the faces of my family, of Gale. I never told him how much he meant to me. But the picture flickers and is gone. My eyes move again. So slowly. The pale, early morning sun trickles down through the leaves and as I lose a grip on consciousness my world becomes a sea of soft green light.

A/N: So I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because I had fun writing it. I've been wanting to get the story to this point for a while now so now I can have fun with the next few scenes!


	8. Healing

Healing

I hurt. All over.

It's a long time before my battered mind can begin to register anything more than this. Pain occasionally bursts like tiny fires across my body, but for the most part it's just a blinding ache. As though every muscle inside me has been torn out, stretched across a rack and then sewn back in. Badly. I'm not sure how long I lie and I have no idea where I am. I don't think I'm at the bottom of the slope anymore. It's dark, but not the sort of darkness caused by night and the ground feels rougher. Wasn't there grass before I lost consciousness? I'm not sure and I hurt too much to think so I stop and allow myself to drift.

It could be hours or days before I am in any shape to start identifying the spots where it hurts most. My shoulder. I have a foggy memory of being hit by an arrow. Blonde hair. Glimmer. She must have managed to hit me accidentally, because she'd certainly never have managed a running shot like that deliberately. Breathing causes tiny flashes of starlight to spring up behind my eyes so I can safely assume I've broken a couple of ribs at least. My left arm feels splintered and the only time it doesn't feel as though someone is repeatedly smashing it with a hammer is when I lie completely still. So I do. My ankle. I fell out of a tree. Why was I in a tree? The Careers. Peeta. Rue.

"Are you awake?"

My eyelids flicker, another spasm of pain this time across my face, and without moving I try to work out who and where the words are coming from. I see wide eyes and a shock of fuzzy black hair. "Hi." The words are an inaudible croak that sends another bout of fire through my body.

"Try not to move," she shifts closer. "Here I got you some water. Take a sip. Slowly, careful, don't spill, that's it." She trickles some cool liquid into my mouth. Just enough to wet my lips and ease the cracked flesh at the back of my throat. "I've been wondering if you were awake for a while, but then I thought you were dead too so I wasn't sure. Anyway I decided it was better to let you rest."

"What happened?" The words take a few attempts, but when I manage they are a little louder than the last time. My vision is beginning to reassert itself too although it seems a little lopsided. My right eye is tender and swollen. Rue's face comes into focus, hovering anxiously over me, her brow crinkled in concern. Something behind her gives off a slick sheen, dancing in the light of the torch she has laid beside me. "Where are we?"

"A cave I found. What can you remember?"

I try to think, but even that hurts. "I was trapped in the tree. You helped me." I glance at her for confirmation and the little girl nods encouragingly. "I jumped. My ankle." As if on cue it gives a painful throb. "I tried to escape, but Glimmer jumped on me…" My voice trails off as I recall our hurtling course down the hill.

"She's dead." Rue informs me. No emotion in her little voice. "I think she was dead by the time you got to the bottom of the hill."

"Yes…" my words are slow, still being processed. "You saw?"

"I was up in the trees. When you jumped I followed you to try and help, but then Peeta confused things and Glimmer -"

"Is Peeta alright?!" His sudden attack on Clove comes flooding back to me. "What happened. I heard… and then they were fighting… and I…" In my urgency I forget to limit myself to shallow breaths and a sudden spasm wracks my chest, cutting off the words.

"I don't know. He tried to save you. Clove had her knives out and she was closing in. I didn't know what to do and then he tackled her and you fell off the hill and everything happened so fast. Once you had fallen I had to stay where I was. I saw him kill Clove." Tears spring into Rue's eyes at the memory. "But then Cato showed up and he had to run, that was the last time I saw him. I had to stay up in the tree to make sure it was safe then I went to fetch you. I thought you were dead, but then you moaned and said… anyway, so I made a stretcher and tried to drag you here. It took all day. I took the arrow out of your shoulder and tried to stop the bleeding. I wasn't sure what else was wrong with you so I waited till now."

Ignoring the part about my own life I focus on the most important part of her story. "But Peeta was alright the last time you saw him? Has he, at night… has he?"

She grasps my meaning and shakes her head. Peeta's face hasn't been in the sky. No matter what, he's still alive. For some reason this fills me with relief. It shouldn't. I might have gotten more than my share of blows to the head falling down that hill, but I'm still aware of the idiocy in my reaction. Peeta teamed up with the Careers, I shouldn't care at all. But he did save your life, a tiny voice reminds me, he killed Clove.

"Anyone else?"

"The girls from District's 1 and 2, the boy from 3 and the boy from 10," she counts them off on her fingers. "There are eight left."

Eight. Only eight and we haven't even been here a week! I'm so busy considering the implications of this that I forget not to move. The shriek of pain reminds me.

"Oh. Lie still. Here, I've got this." Rue disappears from my field of vision for a split second and then quickly reappears carrying a metal cylinder. "You got a parachute yesterday. At least, I assume it's for you. They're bandages. They made my fingers feel all tingly when I touched them so I think they've got some sort of anaesthetic in them."

Thank you Haymitch, I think silently, filled with a burst of unexpected love for my irascible, drunken mentor. It must have cost him a lot to get enough from my sponsors to send those.

"Where shall I start?" Rue asks timidly.

Ideally I'd love her to wrap me in the stuff from head to foot, but I can see there isn't nearly enough for that. "Try my shoulder and my ribs, I think they're broken." It might make breathing a bit easier at any rate.

I have to bite my cheek to keep from crying out as Rue tries to ease me as gently as she can into a sitting position. The acidic tang of blood as it fills my mouth also prevents me from uttering the string of curses which spring to my lips. In another painful similarity to my sister, Rue seems to be an efficient little nurse. She knows exactly how tightly to wrap the bandage so that it will hold my ribs in place and stop any residual bleeding from the arrow wound.

The relief I feel as the silvery material makes contact with my skin is indescribable. I feel as if an enormous crushing weight has been lifted from me and I'm floating on a cloud.

"Careful," Rue warns as I take an enormous refreshing breath, "if your ribs are broken then you could still puncture a lung or something."

"Yes, ma'am," I respond. I even manage to quirk my lip up in a tiny smirk.

There is just enough bandage left to wrap around my arm which is then strapped up in a makeshift sling. We both reach the conclusion that my ankle is just severely sprained rather than broken, but I still won't be able to walk on it for a few days. Regardless I feel a million times better than I did when I woke up. As, apparently, does my stomach which proceeds to rumble loudly.

"Here," Rue hands me some berries, mushrooms and a little bit of meat. "It's not much, but it's all I've got left. I didn't want to leave you alone and go foraging."

"You should," I tell her around a mouthful of food. "You need to look after yourself too."

"I know, but it's dark outside now anyway. I'll wait until tomorrow."

I look at her again and suddenly notice the deep shadows under her eyes, the exhaustion hidden within them. Has she gotten any sleep in the last few days? "You should rest," I tell her. It's cold in the cave and now that my injuries aren't bothering me quite so much I am beginning to feel the cold. Rue shivers. "Come here," I gingerly reach out my uninjured arm, careful not to knock the ribs. "We can keep each other warm."

"Really?" Her little face lights up in excitement and I feel my heart twist a little.

"Of course. Allies need to stick together."

I feel her smile against my side. I'm not sure what I'm doing, teaming up with Rue will only cause more pain in the long run, but what else can I do? She saved my life twice and she's such a little thing, she needs someone to take care of her. The thought makes me smile. I can barely take care of myself the state I'm in, never mind someone else. Still we'll do better together. The sound of her gentle breathing lulls me to sleep and as I dream my thoughts are filled with faces: Rue, Peeta, Gale, my family.

I don't leave the cave for the next few days, I couldn't walk on my ankle even if I wanted to, which I do. I hate lying here lamely, just waiting for someone to come and find me. To finish me off. Rue's presence helps, she gives me someone to talk to and I learn a lot about her life in District 11, her brothers and sisters, the work they do there, the oppressive Peacekeepers they live under. I try to reciprocate and tell her about home, but when I get to talking about Gale and my family the words dry up. Especially Gale, I still don't know quite what to think about him. Some times Rue will disappear for hours on end, foraging for food, collecting information about the other tributes. I am furious the first time she returns to tell me she has been spying on the remains of the Career pack. They've set themselves up at the lake with the rest of the supplies. Cato, Marvel and the girl from 4 whose name I never did learn. I don't have the strength yet to stop her from doing it, however, and it is useful. It allows me to build up a picture of the arena, begin planning strategies from when I am well enough to move.

There is still no sign of Peeta. Or of Thresh or the wily girl from District 5. They remain the unknown element in all of this. There was a trail of blood which she came across, she says it isn't much, but I can tell she's lying. It stopped in the river and Rue isn't a good enough tracker to follow it any further. Despite everything I find myself hoping against hope that it doesn't belong to the boy with the bread. Whatever his motivation he has saved my life twice now, even if he did betray me too.

After two days of lying around I am going stir crazy and demand that Rue find me a branch to use as a crutch. I argue that if we don't make a move soon the Gamesmakers will send something to smoke us out anyway, but really I am itching to be on my feet again. I am noisier than usual, limping through the forest with a big stick to support me, but Rue more than makes up for that padding silently along behind me. I make her take me to the place where she found the blood. It is disconcertingly close to the spot where I fell down the hill.

For a moment I stand there, gazing at the slope, reliving my fall and the crushing pain it induced. I can still see Glimmer's golden hair swimming before my eyes, the way it pooled around her broken body. With a twitch of my head I look away again.

"It starts back there," Rue points between the trees and I clomp off in that direction. Almost immediately I can see what she is speaking about. Sprinkled along the ground and across the bushes is a dark trail of blood. Rue and I exchange a worried look before beginning to follow it.

As we move I notice other things, snapped branches, disturbed earth. Someone large passed this way, someone staggering about, someone who wears boots roughly the size of Peeta's. I can feel a knot of tension building in my stomach as we continue, something not helped by the fact the blood is beginning to get thicker, the trail less cautious. By the time we reach the river my head is pounding and I think I might throw up.

"You need to stop," Rue informs me. There is no space for argument in her tone, but I try anyway. "No," she insists, every bit as stubborn. "It's been five days now since the fight, if this is Peeta and he was injured then… well a few minutes isn't going to make a difference. You on the other hand are going to collapse _now_ if you don't stop and have a drink." With this firm pronouncement she goes to refill her flask from the river and waits for me to settle myself carefully on a rock.

I'll never admit it, but the cool water flowing over my lips does feel good. Despite the bandages Haymitch sent me, I am beginning to ache again and no matter how careful I am my ankle still pains me with ever step.

Once Rue finally allows me to get up again I examine the damage around the river. There are several rocks with spatters of blood across them, up near the bank where the flow hasn't washed it away. A clump of reeds have nearly been ripped entirely from the ground, judging by the state of them someone had been gripping on tightly as they floundered in the water. My eyes scan the area, picking out the signs someone passed this way.

"He's gone that way." I point downstream.

Rue's serious, wide-eyed gaze follows my finger. "Are you sure it's him?"

I don't want to be sure. I don't want to even contemplate that Peeta might have been that badly injured. But in my heart I know it's him. Cato and Marvel are safe by the lake, the girls would be too small to create such a trail and I doubt that it's Thresh. No one has seen him since the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

"It's him."

I'm not even sure why I'm trying to find him, to help him. He betrayed me. He betrayed me when he revealed to all of Panem that he loved me and again with the Careers. I still can't get my head around that last part. Why would he do that? The two incidents don't seem to add up at all, and then there were his cryptic comments on the roof of the Training Centre. My instincts tell me there is more to it than meets the eye and father told me to trust my instincts. The truth is I just don't know and if Peeta dies out here then I'll never find out what's going on.

Once my head has stopped spinning I push myself awkwardly to me feet, grinding my teeth against the pain and the two of us continue down the river bank.

A/N: A shorter chapter there and I know not much happens, but I felt it was necessary to tell the story. As for Katniss' relatively quick recovery from her near death experience, well what can I say, there's a story to be getting on with and she is slightly superhuman after all. Hope everyone enjoys and please keep up the reviews!


	9. Lost and Found

A/N: Apologies for the long delay in posting this. I just started a new job and its disrupted things a little! Hope you all enjoy!

Lost and Found

What am I doing? I have no idea. I'm hobbling along beside a river, barely able to keep myself upright, trying to find Peeta, but for what purpose. To ally with him as I have Rue? Why am I getting myself into this mess. Only one person comes out of the Hunger Games and the longer we keep each other alive the more likely it is that I might have to… My brain veers away from the unsavoury thought. I need to keep my mind on the present. If I leave Peeta, knowing he is badly injured, then I might as well just have killed him with my own hands. I can't do it.

If Rue has such worries about her alliance she doesn't show it. The girl is skipping out ahead of me, only her constantly darting eyes show that she is aware of the potential danger in our surroundings. She is whistling a song I have never heard before, occasionally breaking into snatches of lyrics. Between verses she will glance back at me, partly to ensure I haven't collapsed into the river, but partly to reassure herself that I haven't vanished into the woods and abandoned her. The concern touches me in a way I didn't think anything in the arena could.

"What's that there?" Her keen eyes spot something and suddenly she is scrambling down the bank, waving a finger at the rocks.

I look, but see nothing. Nothing except yard upon yard of bare, unyielding stone.

"What is it?"

"There!"

Rue's eyes are better than mine so although I can't see a thing I believe her and begin attempting the treacherous descent across the sloping bank. Thankfully the river is narrower hear, leaving much exposed rock and earth for me to limp across, but with the slippery ground and my precarious crutch I have to take it slowly.

"What can you see?" I call.

"Katniss?"

I stop dead. The voice is faint, pathetic, and definitely does not belong to Rue. Harder now, my eyes bore into the ground where Rue had been pointing. Nothing. I wait. She skips closer in staccato hops, bird like, wary now.

"Katniss, is that you?" It is softer now, but I am sure.

"Peeta! Peeta, hold on. I'm coming!" I am suddenly gripped with more energy than I've possessed in days and although I still lean on the crutch I seem to fly across the stones. I clatter up to Rue out of breath and aware that my ribs ache, but I ignore them. "Where are you?" I take another wobbling step.

"Careful, you'll skewer me with that thing." There is a sudden flash of blue as eyes open in the dirt. I falter, just in time, and stumble back a pace. The eyes are watching me and I feel a surge of relief so powerful that I drop to my knees beside Rue ignoring the scream of pain from my ankle at such rough treatment. Peeta is alive!

"Do that again," I demand.

There is a grating noise which might be a chuckle and he is swallowed up by the ground again. The camouflage is perfect. Just perfect. I don't have time to sit around being amazed however.

"Rue, help me get him up." I slip a hand under one of his arms, but it is the little girl who does most of the dragging. I just don't have the strength yet. Turning him we try to prop him carefully against a rock as muffled cries of pain slip from his clenched lips. Without being asked my small friend runs down to the river and returns with a flask of water which I use to wash the mud from Peeta's face. Beneath it he is pale, far too pale and I have a horrible suspicion that the greyish tinge to his skin is not just caused by the dirt.

"You look terrible," I tell him.

From somewhere he finds the energy to smile; it is a sarcastic, little quirk of his lips, but it's there. "You don't look too wonderful yourself."

"Shut up."

The smile is wider this time.

I force him to drink a little water as much to make him stop smiling as for any other reason and notice that all the while he is drinking his eyes never leave my face.

"Are you hurt?" I ask. "Rue said she saw Cato go after you, and there was so much blood on the trail…"

"Yes," the nod seems to tire him. "Clove got me here," he gestures weakly to his ribs and then I… well," he seems awkward and clears his dry throat, "anyway when you disappeared I had no choice but to run. Cato caught up with me. He managed to get me in the leg before I escaped." There is a long pause and I can feel his eyes burning into my cheek as I look away. "I thought you were dead."

I have nothing to say to that so I don't bother, instead I turn and address Rue. "We need to clean him up, do you think you can help me get him into the stream?"

We try, but it is a long, loud and painful process. By the time we get Peeta anywhere near the edge of the water his face is green and we are both panting with exertion and pain. Rue stands chewing her lip anxiously.

"Hang on a minute," she says suddenly before dashing off into the trees. I want to call out to her, but we've made so much noise as it is that I worry we'll attract the Careers. You never know who might be listening. I needn't have bothered though because a moment later she reappears again, hands full of thick green moss. "We can use it like a sponge. It might make things easier."

She is right and in no time we have most of the muck washed away from Peeta's skin, but this only reveals how ashen he really is, the deep shadows beneath his eyes and the blue tinge to his lips. As he sits there in the sunlight he begins to shiver even though he burns to the touch.

"We should take a look at that," I gesture to his ribs. The fabric of his jacket has been slashed and blood has crusted along with the mud. Gently he allows me to ease off his clothes and Rue dabs carefully at a long, curving cut that has been sliced into his side.

"I don't think it's too deep," she announces quietly, "but there's dirt in it." She rocks back on her heels and eyes him warily, her gaze flicking from Peeta's face to mine, she seems almost afraid of him.

I try to smile reassuringly, dreading the thought of having to play doctor. I've never been good at it. "I'll do it. Just help me sit next to him properly, will you? My ankle's killing me."

She helps me settle and with gritted teeth I set to work, Rue running back and forth to renew my water supply. Once when she has skipped down to the edge of the river Peeta whispers quietly to me so that the cameras won't hear.

"Why did you come and find me?"

I keep working, giving myself time to think up an answer. Gently dabbing the dirt from the wound so that it doesn't become infected, some of the skin already looks red and inflamed. Fingers reach out and take mine, twining with them and stopping them from doing their work. They're practically on fire, but despite everything they still feel strong. Any sort of answer sticks in my throat.

"Katniss?"

"I… I don't know." I look up at him. He's still waiting for a more satisfactory answer. "I couldn't leave you out here to -"

"To die? Katniss that's the point of the Games." He sounds almost annoyed. Pleased, but annoyed.

"Shut up," I tell him. Can't I come up with anything else?

"I see you picked up a shadow again." He ignores me.

"She helped me escape from…" I am just about to say _you_, but I can't quite make myself do it. "From the Careers," I finish. "And then she saved me after I fell down the hill. Patched me up again."

"I thought you were dead, when I saw you fall… I thought that was it." He looks at me seriously again, eyes full of a pain which has nothing to do with his ribs or his leg. In that moment he seems so lost and hurt that, quite unbidden, my lips feel the need to plant a quick, gentle kiss against his burning brow.

"Don't be daft," my mouth quirks upwards awkwardly as I pull away. "It'd take more than a stupid hill to get one over on me."

From the left I hear a giggle and glance up. Rue is watching us from several feet away. A flask of water in her hand and a pleased, knowing expression on her face. I immediately feel myself blush beet red. Why did she have to see?

"You two are so cute," she giggles again before handing me the flask.

It suddenly dawns on me that not only did she see, but everyone saw. Sometimes, in the quiet moment's it is so easy to forget that the whole of Panem can see our every move, hear our every word, witness our every kiss. The whole of Panem, and Gale. What on earth is he going to think? Suddenly an innocent, impulsive gesture becomes laden with meaning I hadn't intended. Have I just gone and hurt my best friend? Will he realise there was nothing to it, or think that it means more? Should I even care? I am aware that Peeta and Rue are staring at me, that I haven't taken the flask from Rue yet.

I cough to cover the silence and make a grab for it. "Right, well… let's get started on this leg then shall we?

I almost wish I hadn't suggested it. I'm squeamish at the best of times when it comes to injuries, right now I think I might throw up or faint, something embarrassing anyway. Several water flasks and some leaves supplied by Rue later the thing is clean and oozing puss and revealed to be an unhealthy scarlet. It will take more time to treat than I am prepared to risk out in the open and with the state we are both in getting anywhere will take time. After some struggling the three of us manage to get to our feet, just. Thankfully, by some miracle of luck or fate, the spot wasn't that far from the cave Rue and I had made our home. We must have been walking in an enormous loop all day.

"Here we are," I attempt to gently lay him down, but really end up dropping him rather unceremoniously. I can almost feel all of Panem wince as I do so.

"Ooooph," the air seems to explode from Peeta and I worry he won't manage to breathe in again. He does though, somehow.

"Don't worry," he says in response to my agonised look. "I'm fine, or I will be in a minute."

I obviously don't look convinced because he gives me a wide, toothy grin to prove it. It just makes him look more gaunt and skeletal than ever. But I can't help it; I always seem to be worrying about Peeta Mellark in some way or other.


End file.
